


A Little Sleight of Hand

by HolyHeadHarpy_EquipmentManager



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, May and Ben are alive, Slow Build, Superfamily, after effects of child abuse, all except steve/tony background relationships, and active parts of Peter's life, lots of bonding over science, off screen child abuse, they just can't be his guardians, warnings for uninformed discussion of New York's Child Protection Agency
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-02-27 09:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2688509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolyHeadHarpy_EquipmentManager/pseuds/HolyHeadHarpy_EquipmentManager
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After three years of taking care of their nephew, Peter, May and Ben Parker's poor health finally catch up to them, and they're deemed unfit guardians, and moved to an assisted living facility. Peter is thrown into the less than loving arms of the foster system, and they're not quite up to handling a genius little boy with medical problems, a smart mouth, and a penchant for running away.<br/>Things get a little better when Sam Wilson takes over the case.<br/>Sam takes a pretty strong liking to Peter, and when he starts seeing similarities between the kid, and certain friends of his, a crazy thought enters Sam's head.<br/>The hard part is going to be convincing them it was their idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There is a kind of mixing of the verses that happens in my head, so bear with me.  
> Steve and Tony will be strongly based off their MCU counterparts, while Peter is drawn more from his Ultimate Comics incarnation. My Sam is a kind of mix between 616 and MCU Sam: he was in the military, but when he left, instead of going to the VA, he went into Social Work. Because Sam with kids is the best.
> 
> As much as I love superfamily, it drives me a little up the wall to see Ben and May get the short end of the stick, especially because May is one of the few mother figures who managed to survive her son figure's origin story. Also, she's the best. My answer to this is to make them really old and fragile. 
> 
> Peter is five when his parents die, and eight when he gets moved into the system. At the end of the first chapter, he's fourteen, and it's the summer before he starts high school.
> 
> Again, I know nothing about the adoption/foster system in New York. If you do, and you want to correct a mistake I have made in the comments, please do so. I will do my best to be more accurate in future chapters, but make no promises on coming back and editing this one. I will, at least, add a disclaimer indicating the mistakes.

Timothy Davis didn't always hate his job. He had entered this line of work optimistic, ready to make a difference in the world, one child at a time. Thirty years and an endless stream of kids he couldn't help later, hopelessness had sunk into his bones. Sure, every now and then a kid managed to leave the system by finding a good home, and parents who loved them, and for a few years he had thought some kids were happier because of him. Now, he was convinced that was dumb luck.

Hell, he couldn't even help his own kids. How was he supposed to help these?

So, Timothy Davis scooped out the part of him that ached every time a kid cried in front of him and filled it with bitterness instead. He ripped out the hopeful part that whispered “ _maybe this one will be different_ ,” and replaced it with anger. Because he would've gone crazy if he hadn’t. Because bitterness and anger were easier to deal with than disappointment.

This might be why Davis hated Sam Wilson so much. Sam Wilson was everything Davis was thirty years ago, and Davis hated him for it. He wanted more than anything to watch Wilson follow the same path he had, to realize little by little that their job was useless.

Because in thirty years, if Wilson was still happy, and optimistic, and still loving his job, what did that say about Davis? He didn't want to think about that. He'd rather watch Wilson’s slow spiral.

This is why, when Timothy Davis stumbled upon the most frustrating case of his thirty year career, when the same dumbass kid had been sent back to him again for doing the same dumbass thing that he did at the 8 other homes that had already kicked him out, he lost it.

The kid sat in a worn out chair, which 26 years ago had been very comfortable and replaced the wooden chair that had been there before it, but was now more uncomfortable than the wooden chair had ever been, on the opposite side of Davis’ desk. He wasn't crying, like a lot of kids did. He wasn't trying to make excuses, which even more kids did. He was staring at his beat up sneakers, red with the Flash’s signature lightning bolt on the side, silent as anything, despite Davis’ increasingly frustrated line of questions. The Flash had been Davis’ son’s favorite comic book, when he was right around this boy’s age. Davis rubbed his eyes underneath his thick rimmed glasses, and leaned forward to put his elbows on the desk, his hands flopping down onto the file in front of him afterwards, so that he could glare at the boy with as much drama as he could muster. This all seemed to take much more sighing and groaning than really seemed necessary.

“I don't get it. I just don't understand. You have been to eight homes in the past year, and at every single one you have tried to pull the same shit.” The kid flinched at the word, and Davis felt a twinge of pleasure at having finally gotten a reaction. “You pull the same shit, every time, and not once have you gotten away with it. How long will it take for you to give up?” The kid remained silent, again. “Don't you want them to like you? Or do you enjoy being relocated every other month?” Silence. “All of these people send you to me saying ‘he talks back,’ and ‘he’s got a hell of a mouth on him,’ but you don't have anything to say to me? Just going to sit there?” The boy kicked the sole of his left shoe, and the lightning bolt lit up. Then he did the same to the right. And then the left again. “Maybe it’s me. Maybe I'm too nice to you. Maybe you miss me and want an excuse to see me all the fucking time.”

Finally, the kid’s eyes moved. Not his head. Just the eyes. It was half eye roll and half glare, but that was enough. That was enough for Davis to guess at what this kid was thinking. Davis saw paragraphs in that eye roll. “You're useless,” and “you can't do anything to me,” and “I'm going to do it again.” And Davis snapped.

He shot out of his chair, grabbed the file, and strode around the desk. The boy hadn't even looked up when he had moved, just kept kicking his shoes to see the lightningbolt flash. Davis grabbed the boy’s arm, and he wasn't supposed to do that, he wasn't supposed to touch the kids because some nutjob had threatened to sue the whole department a few years ago, but he wasn't about to let that stop him. The boy’s head snapped up when his arm was grabbed, glasses falling a little bit to be even more crooked than before, and finally, _finally_ , Davis had his attention. They were halfway down the hall before the kid had figured out what was going on enough to protest, but before the words were even fully formed, Davis had thrown open a door and strode in, pulling the boy behind him, and shoved him in front of a new desk.

“Congratulations Wilson. He’s your problem now.” And he slammed the file down on the desk. It would have been nice if the desk had been clear so it could make a good loud slam, but it was covered in papers and similar files, so it was more of a drop than a slam. Davis was a little disappointed by that. He compensated by slamming the door on his way out.

And felt a heady sense of satisfaction while he walked back to his office.

 

* * *

 

Sam Wilson blinked at the closed door of his office, mouth half open, an aborted question hanging on his tongue. Then, he shook his head, as though to clear it, closed his mouth and turned towards the child that had been deposited in his office. He could deal with Davis later.

Sam would've put his age at 7 or 8, with a mop of brown hair on his head. His clothes were too big for him, and well worn, so they had probably been somebody else’s before him. His glasses were too small on him, crooked as though they had been bent poorly back into shape, and Sam could see the scratches in the lenzes even as far away as he was. They had gone even more askew in the trip from Davis’ office, and he hadn't bothered to straighten them yet. He was staring at the door, hazel eyes wide and confused, but they didn't look frightened, so that was good. His head swiveled around to lock on Sam now, mouth hanging open very similar to what Sam’s had looked like moments ago.  
“I left my backpack in his office.”

“Dude.” The third occupant of the room looked awestruck. She was blonde and pretty, seventeen years old, and her blue eyes were locked on the boy. “What did you do?” He just blinked at her for a moment, as though he realized she was there for the first time. Sam gave her a look. She didn't see it, because she was still staring at the boy.

“Nothing!” insisted the kid, defensively.

“You had to have done something.”

“Tandy...” began Sam, warningly, but she ignored him. She was good at that.

“I didn't do anything! Really!” He turned to Sam, as though hoping for support from someone who he must've assumed was an authority figure. Sam sure didn't feel like one right now. He looked at the kid with what he hoped was a skeptical look, but it felt more confused. It seemed to work though, because the kid’s face turned from wide eyed and innocent to stone cold guilty. “But... maybe that... was the problem.” Sam raised his eyebrows, and Tandy leaned forward, clearly eager. “He was asking me questions and I... wasn’t... answering.”

Tandy burst out laughing. “Personally,” she said, turning to Sam, “I think he’s overreacting. I did way worse things to you when we first met.”

Sam pushed the file that had been dropped on his desk off the paperwork he had been in the process of signing, grabbed a pen, and scribbled his name at the bottom of the sheet. He stacked them, stapled them, and handed them to Tandy with a polite smile. “Congratulations Tandy Bowen, you are officially an emancipated teen. Take this to Teresa, at the front desk, and she’ll go over the usual procedure with you.” She beamed at him, grabbed the papers, and practically bounced out of the office.

“Thanks Mr. Wilson! I'm sure I'll be seeing you soon! And thank you,” she said turning to the boy, “for making a good day better.” With that, she was gone, and Sam was free to focus on the kid.

“Do you think this is funny?” he asked Sam, voice full of hope and anxiety in equal parts. Sam put his best reprimanding face on before answering.

“No.” Even though it was a little funny, and it did help Sam on his ‘what kind of animal does Davis look like when his face gets red and his eyes bug out’ quest. Sam was thinking some kind of fish. Maybe amphibian. Peter’s face fell, and Sam continued, more kindly, “take a seat,” he glanced down at the file, “Peter. I'm just going to need a minute to look through your file.” Peter nodded, and moved to Tandy’s abandoned seat. His legs were too short, and he swung them without seeming to notice he was doing it. He was too busy staring around Sam’s office thoughtfully. “I’m Mr. Wilson, by the way Pleased to meet you, Peter.” Sam held his hand out over the desk, towards Peter. Peter stared at it for a second, before reaching out and shaking.

“It’s nice to meet you too Mr. Wilson,” he said slowly, staring at Sam now. Sam just smiled back.

“I like your sneakers, by the way. Flash was always my favorite.”

Peter glanced down at his shoes, as though to make sure they were still what he thought they were. Then he looked up at Sam, grinning. “They light up too.”

“Cool,” Sam said, and he really sounded like he meant it. He turned back to the file, flipping it open. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Peter start playing with his shoes.  
The first thing Sam read was Peter’s family information, which was far more depressing than a ten year old should have had to deal with. (Sam had been wrong about his age, Peter was a small 9. Looking at him, Sam couldn't decide if he was naturally that small, or if he hadn't been fed properly.) Peter’s parents, Mary and Richard Parker, had died in a plane crash when Peter was 5, leaving him with his father’s aunt and uncle, May and Ben Parker. When Peter was 8, May had a heart attack, and, though she survived, she never fully recovered, and was required to move into an assisted living home. Ben had been toting an oxygen tank around since before they had Peter, and was told that the home would probably be best for him too, now that May couldn’t take care of him. They were quickly deemed unfit to be Peter’s legal guardians, and Peter was made a ward of the state.

“Hey, Mr. Wilson?” Sam looked up. Peter had evidently grown bored of his sneakers, and was now pointing at a Rubix cube at the edge of Sam’s desk. “Can I play with that?”

“Sure Peter. Help yourself to any of them.” Sam kept a small pile of games on his desk, partly for him, and partly for kids who got stuck in his office. Some kids talked more if they had something to fiddle with. Along with the Rubix Cube, there was a ping pong paddle, a jigsaw puzzle, a Russian nesting doll, and a top. Peter grinned again, and Sam couldn't help but smile back as he reached for the cube. Peter really was a cute kid.

He had also gone through 8 foster homes in a year, apparently. Sam frowned when he read that, and turned to the copies of reports the foster families filed when they asked to return him. Phrases like “blatantly disrespectful,” “mouthy,” and, “too smart for his own good” jumped out at him.

“Someday he’s gonna say the wrong thing to the wrong person,” one foster mother had said, “and I don't want to be the one to patch him up when he does.”

He had medical problems, too. Asthma, and glasses, which meant he cost more than the average kid. More than once, Peter had an asthma attack that was worse than it should've been, because the parent hadn’t known how to handle the situation. He had also gone through 3 pairs of glasses since entering the system. The forms said that it was because he didn’t take care of them, but Sam had learned not to trust the forms in all situations. The glasses hadn’t gotten lost, they had all broken. Sam could think of a few a couple other ways glasses could be broken, and he didn't like any of them.

They said that Peter didn't seem to care at all about school, though his grades seemed to indicate the opposite. He had gotten in trouble for reading books underneath the desk, often enough that the principal contacted his guardians about it. He didn't do homework, at least not at home. There were two detentions for fighting. He didn't do any after school activities, but he was never home on time. He told them he was at the library, or that he stopped somewhere for food, but they all insisted he was lying.

Which was an easier thing to believe when you took into account the fact that he had a habit of running away. The state would get a call from his guardians saying that Peter had never returned from school, and after an hour or two of panic they would get another call from Silent Meadows Housing, from either Ben or May Parker saying that Peter had found his way to them. The state had tried to stop it by moving Peter further and further away from them, but it didn't make a difference where he was in the city. He’d memorize bus schedules, and subway routes, and walk the distances public transportation didn’t cover. He'd sneak quarters out of his foster parent’s wallets, or off their desk, or out of their pockets one at a time so they wouldn't notice, to pay for the tickets; he always had enough money when he left. He always managed to get all the way to Silent Meadows before he was caught. Twice, the state received the call from his Aunt and Uncle before they got the call from his foster parents.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Peter set down the finished Rubix Cube on the desk, and pick up the ping pong paddle.

Ben and May got more and more unhappy every time Peter showed up. They loved seeing Peter of course, they loved him very much, that was clear. Ben was filing requests to reinstate them as his guardians as often as he was allowed, but they couldn't help but worry about what it was that Peter felt so compelled to run away from. They had told the person who interviewed them that Peter avoided talking about the families he was assigned with them. One of these days, mused Sam, they're not going to call. They're just going to hide him in their closet or something. They weren't wrong to worry, either. Sam recognised a couple of the names on this list, and at least 2 were families that, while technically meeting all the requirements for foster parents in New York, Sam actively avoided sending kids to. He mentally added one of the families who hadn’t called to report Peter missing to the list. The other was already on there.

“OW!” Sam tore his eyes away from the file to see Peter rubbing his eye. His glasses had been knocked onto the floor. He had been struggling with the ping pong paddle for several minutes, and had evidently missed the paddle, and hit himself in the face. Puzzle solving ability, good, hand eye coordination, bad, Sam noted, as he jumped up and rounded the desk, crouching so he could get a better look, grabbing the glasses as he went.

“Are you okay? Where exactly did it hit you?” Peter pointed at his brow bone, over his left eye, looking at Sam cautiously, and maybe a little suspiciously. Sam made a show of leaning in a little and squinting at the spot where Peter pointed. Then he met Peter’s eyes and said very seriously, “There’s no way around it. You're going to need to get a glass eye until we can find a permanent replacement.” Peter’s eyes widened. “I’m kidding,” Sam said breaking into a grin, and handing back the glasses. “You're gonna be fine.” Peter chuckled, only a little, and he still looked a little weary, but the laugh was real, and so was the smile, so Sam counted it as a win.

“Darn. A glass eye would've been really cool.” His eyes widened a little bit, and the smile grew. “It could've been a different color! Or cybernetically enhanced!” Peter was practically bouncing in his chair now, thinking of the possibilities. “Maybe I wouldn't have needed glasses anymore. I could've been like Mad-Eye Moody!”

“But your other eye would still need glasses.”

“Monocle!”

Sam laughed as he settled back into his chair, and, for the first time since he met the man, felt grateful to Timothy Davis.

 

* * *

 

The next few years were weird for Sam. Somehow, and he had no idea how, he had become Captain America’s best friend, and they had tracked down Captain America’s other best friend, and helped him deprogram his brain so he wouldn’t be a weapon for Nazis anymore. There were also sentient computers, and aliens, and actual real life Nazis thrown in there as well, but Sam didn't like to think about those things so much. Also, he had somehow managed to land himself on the most famous and respected superhero team on the planet.

Again, he had no idea how this happened. He was living in the most expensive building in New York, for crying out loud.

Of course, through all this, he somehow (Again, no. Idea. How.) managed to keep his job as a social worker. He had to take less kids, which he was sad to do, but he made sure he kept Peter. As hard as he tried, he just couldn't find a place where Peter felt comfortable. Or, for that matter, where people felt comfortable with Peter.

There had been a few decent people mixed in there, enough for Peter to stop bolting every opportunity he got. It was slow, he did run a few times, but it was never very far anymore. Sam made sure Peter stayed close enough to Silent Meadows that he could easily and safely make it there without much assistance. If he couldn't stop him, he’d at least make sure the kid wouldn't get hurt doing it. He explained to Peter that visiting his Aunt and Uncle was fine, after school and weekends he could spend as much time there as he liked, provided he abided his foster parent’s curfew. He could also call, if he couldn’t visit. Ben and May seemed to relax with Peter closer by, and, while Ben’s requests didn't stop, they did slow down, and seemed less desperate now.

Unfortunately, Peter spending so much time at Silent Meadows meant he spent less time getting to know his foster parents. Sometimes Peter was sent back with, “We weren't even positive we had a foster child, or if we dreamt him up.” Many foster parents prefered this, unfortunately, but those Peter inevitably clashed with. Peter really didn't have a filter on his mouth, and if he was staying with a drunken, washed up, high school dropout, he would tell them so. If they insulted him, he insulted right back. Peter could not ignore a bully, which Sam would be proud of if it didn't make Peter a prime target. Small, mouthy, and asthmatic was not a good combination in high school, or the foster system. Peter got contacts when he was twelve from one of the better foster families, so at least they couldn't break his glasses anymore. He continued to get in fights at school for the same reason, which was especially frustrating to Sam because he could never be sure if the bruises were from bullies at school, or home. Peter would just mumble and change the subject when asked, and Sam knew better than to try to force a kid to confide in him.

Sam tried to find foster parents with an interest or background in science, but the results were never as good as he hoped they would be. The guy who worked at the Science Museum had sent Peter back after a week because Peter had badgered him with so many questions, and begged him to take Peter to work with him. Sometimes, foster parents said they liked science, but meant they watched Cosmos when they were kids, and were promptly overwhelmed by the barrage of information when they casually said to Peter, “So, Mr. Wilson tells me you like science.” The biology teacher got annoyed when Peter corrected a mistake he made while grading tests. More than once, actually.

Sam always tried to be honest with Peter going into a new home. If he was hopeful, he'd say so. If he wasn't sure, he'd say that too. He tried not to make promises. Peter was the only of his kids who had his personal number, simply because they'd been together so long. He'd used it twice, both times because he thought another kid in his home was in danger. He was also the only one who called Sam by his first name. The first time he did it, it was to get a rise out of Sam after a particularly bad home. Sam hadn't reacted, outwardly at least, so Peter kept trying. Afterwards, it stuck. Peter still seemed to trust Sam, even though Sam sometimes had to put him in homes he didn't trust, always with a promise to move him as soon as possible, and Sam was grateful for that. At the very least, he hoped Peter knew he had Sam in his corner. There was more than one day where he contemplated taking Peter home himself, but dismissed it as a bad idea. If it didn't work out, it would hurt Peter worse than leaving the other homes had, and, he'd have to find Peter a new social worker, which Sam was adamantly against.  
Still, he sometimes considered hiding Peter in his closet.

 

* * *

 

When Steve told Sam that he was in love with Tony Stark, Sam was not pleased. He didn't know Tony all that well; of all the people on the team, he was the one Sam spent the least amount of time with. He had seen enough, however, to know that Tony Stark was everything Steve Rogers wasn’t. He was selfish, he was ostentatious, he didn’t mean a word of what came out of his mouth, everything he did was a show, and he had an ego the size of his bank account. Not a bad guy, by any means, and certainly not the plague on society certain unbiased news sites would have you believe he was, but not Steve Rogers quality. Sam didn't dislike Tony the Avenger, or Tony the landlord, or Tony the mechanic, but he disliked Tony as Steve’s boyfriend. Steve insisted that Tony was different underneath the outer layer of spoiled rich kid who had never managed to grow up, that Sam just needed to get to know him, but Sam didn't see it. Of course, he also didn't like telling Steve who he could and couldn't date, so he remained more or less mute on the matter, but he found himself nodding along with Bucky whenever he started another rant about how Steve could do better, or “your boyfriend has programed the microwave to beep to the tune of Macho Man, but only when I use it, Steve, and I know you'd yell at him if you weren't dating him but you are, so you don't, _so he keeps doing these things Steve make him stop_.”

To which Steve replied, “He set my ringtone to American Idiot a couple months ago. If you sing along, he'll get bored and switch it back for you. Although,” he added thoughtfully, “that was a little awkward when it went off in front of the President.” Which Bucky did not find helpful at all.

It wasn't until Tony invited Sam down to the workshop for one of his wings upgrades that Sam started to see that maybe Steve was right about needing to chip through the outer layer. Tony had been working on his wings for a while, but they had never talked about it. Every now and then where his old wings had been, newer, shiner ones would be, with no indication as to where the old ones went. Or, suddenly, a pair of wings that he had been wearing for a while would be flying a little straighter, or a little faster, and Sam could only guess at why. Gear maintenance was included in the Avengers benefits package, so Sam just accepted it as his due and didn't bring it up.

This time, the upgrade involved something that would require Sam to adjust the way he flew, so they had to talk about it. Tony dragged him down to the workshop, and pulled out a pair of wings that were, as far as Sam could tell, indistinguishable from his old pair, save for the model number in the corner. Tony launched into an explanation of what Sam would need to do differently, and Sam paid attention to that part, he understood that that was very important and would prevent him from, you know, crashing into stuff. But when Tony got to the bit about testing it properly, and the simulations he had run, Sam started to drift.

He was thinking about what dinner was going to be, it was Thor’s night to cook, and that was always an adventure, when he actually looked at Tony’s face again, and when he did, he did a bit of a double take. Tony had gotten caught up in explaining the science behind the wings, and how they were feats of engineering genius really, no really, it had taken weeks to find a metal pliable enough to bend the way he needed it to, but strong enough not to fall apart at top speeds. What surprised Sam wasn't the engineering spiel, it was that it didn't sound or look like Tony was bragging. He wasn't telling Sam to impress him, and even if he had it wouldn't have worked because Sam didn't understand a word coming out of his mouth. Also, Sam had spent more time than he should have shooting increasingly large guns/missiles at Steve’s shield to see if anything could dent it, and so far, nothing. It took a lot for Sam to be impressed by metal these days. Tony had just gotten so caught up in the science that he had forgotten not everybody speaks engineer, or scientist, or binary. Sam was pretty sure Tony was actually speaking in binary now, but it was impossible to know for sure. He was just really excited about the wings, and he looked exactly like Peter.

Peter had looked like that after reading a paper by Hank McCoy on spontaneous mutation in homosapien DNA, and spent the better part of one of their meetings explaining in excruciating detail to Sam exactly how the process worked. Sam hadn't understood a word, but he had done his best to look like he was listening. For years, Sam had watched Peter get caught up in explaining science fair projects, and personal science projects. There was one unfortunate incident when Sam had gotten an angry phone call from Peter’s foster parents after Peter had singed most of his room, and part of the hallway while he ran the smoking beaker to the bathroom. The shower curtain hadn’t survived. The foster parents were not pleased, and neither was the fire department. Sam was pretty annoyed too, but Peter had acted appropriately remorseful and apologetic. Right up until Sam asked what it was that he was even trying to do. Then, Peter’s face lit up while he explained the chemical process that was supposed to have happened, and that he really honestly didn't know what had gone wrong, but he explained his suspicions anyway. It was really hard to stay mad at Peter when he bounced on his feet, and smiled, and used his hands to animate what he was explaining, eyes shining like a little kid on Christmas. Which was exactly how Tony looked now.

Tony, who had noticed the weird look on Sam’s face, and was snapping his fingers to get his attention.

“Sam? Sam! You OK?”

Sam shook himself and assured Tony that he was fine, just didn’t sleep well last night, and that he was pretty sure Tony had started speaking German, so he stopped listening. Tony shrugged as though he heard that all the time, which he probably did, and turned to explain how he went about stress testing the metal to Dummy instead, who looked very interested, even though he had probably helped.

A few weeks, and several watchful conversations with Tony later, Sam tracked Steve down to apologize for not trusting his judgement. “You were right, man. There’s more to Tony Stark than the song and dance he puts on when people are watching.” Steve beamed, and it was all Sam could do not to roll his eyes. “I'm not saying you can't do better. You can do better. But I guess it would be hard to find two people in the world who have risen as far beyond the average human standards as you have, so you'll be settling no matter who you date.” Sam was apparently a better person than Captain America, because Steve didn't even try not to roll his eyes. Maybe he and Tony Stark weren't on such different levels after all.

 

* * *

 

When Sam got the call, he flew to the hospital. He had been in the middle of a mario kart tournament with the other Avengers when it came, and he had quite literally ran out on them to get his wings and go, barely remembering to shout over his shoulder that no, New York wasn't on fire, this was his other work.

He might not have announced his identity in national television, but he didn't go out of his way to hide it either, so he didn't bother changing out of his flight suit when he got there. To her credit the doctor hardly batted an eye when the Falcon had walked in in full gear and introduced himself as Peter’s social worker.

“Two broken ribs, concussion,” the doctor was ticking the off on her fingers as she listed them, “bruised throat, broken hand, and a lot of nasty bruises and scrapes. Asthma attack too, his lungs will probably hurt for a while, but they should heal, without damage that will affect him later. He was unconscious when he was brought in, he hasn't woken up, but he should within the hour. There’s a police officer in his room, I'm sure he'll have more information for you.” Sam thanked her and practically ran to the room she indicated. When he got there, the only other person in the room was the police officer she had mentioned. Peter was lying, still and silent, in the bed. Sam barely held in a gasp when he saw him. His left eye was nearly swollen shut, and another bruise could be seen blooming across his shoulder, creeping up from the collar of the paper gown. There was a tube of oxygen leading to his nose, similar to the one Ben had always worn. His right hand was wrapped in a cast, and there was a hand shaped bruise wrapped around his throat. For a moment, Sam forgot how to breath.

“Mr. Wilson?” The officer asked, taking in the flying gear. He didn't seem to recognize Sam, and probably didn't realize what it was. Just another crazy New Yorker in a weird get up.

“That’s me,” Sam replied, still looking at Peter. “I’m Peter’s social worker. How did this happen?”

“911 received a call earlier tonight from Mr. Parker’s foster sister, saying that their foster father, a Mr. Harrison West, was trying to beat her foster brother to death. When we arrived on the scene, both Mr. Parker and Mr. West were unconscious in his kitchen.”

Sam tore his gaze away from Peter to look at the officer. “Both-?”

“The sister managed to get her hands on a baseball bat and hit him from behind. She’s at the station with her social worker now. She had some nasty bruises on her too. It took a while for her to calm down, but when she did she told us that Mr. West had been inebriated, and asked her to bring him another bottle. She tried tossing it to him, but he dropped it, and it smashed. He hit her, and would have continued hitting her, if Mr. Parker hadn’t intervened."

“Where is West now?”

“In lockup. Doctor’s said he only had a concussion, besides being drunk, and he didn't need a hospital stay. He'll go to jail for this, don't you worry.”

“What about Mrs. West?”

“Gone. Left her husband with the two foster kids about a week ago. We're trying to track her down now. Whether she left because he was a drunk, or he was drinking because she left, we dunno. Probably both.”

Sam took a deep breath. “What was the name of the foster sister?”

“Molly Hayes.” The officer looked a little uncomfortable now, his posture a little more tense. Sam stared at him, and he squirmed.

“And her social worker?”

“Diana Thomson.” He still looked uncomfortable. Sam sighed.

“Has there been a problem with Molly Hayes, officer?”

“No... not really... it’s just...” Sam just looked at the officer, eyebrows slightly raised. “She’s a mutant. Powers showed themselves for the first time tonight. She hit Mr. West much harder than she should’ve been capable of. Some fellas from a special school are gonna come to pick her up.” Sam honestly hadn't been expecting that.

“Xavier’s Institute?” The officer looked surprised.

“That’s the one. You've heard of it?” Sam ignored that.

“I don’t understand. What’s the problem there?”

“It’s just an awkward situation is all. Her being a... you know.”

“A mutant.”

“Yes.” Sam took another deep breath.

“Is there anything else I should know? Has anybody contacted his aunt and uncle?”

“No sir, you're listed as the emergency contact.” Sam nodded. Great. So he got the fun job of telling Peter’s only living family that he had sent their nephew to a house where he nearly died.

“Thank you officer.” The officer nodded and stepped out. Sam sank on the closest chair to Peter’s bed, and dropped his head in his hands.

He’d had this nightmare before. Any second now Peter would turn into Natasha, who’d turn into Sarah, another of his kids. Then Greg, Rebekah, Bucky, Steve, or some other combination of kids and Avengers. Then he’d be looking at his own broken down body, surrounded by the kids and Avengers he left behind, and he’d wake up. Sam raised his head to check at the body in the bed.

It was still Peter.

May and Ben took it as badly as he expected. They didn’t blame him, which somehow made him feel worse. They couldn’t come to the hospital; May’s immune system was too fragile to risk the germs, and Ben wouldn’t leave her alone to worry about Peter by herself. He didn’t say that he wouldn’t have been able to come even without her; it had become harder and harder for either of them to go out without Peter to help them.

So, Sam sat by himself by Peter’s bed. He wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved May and Ben weren’t there; he wasn’t sure he could handle seeing their faces now. He had made a point of talking to them at least once a month, letting them know how he thought Peter was doing, and getting their thoughts as well. He had managed to win their trust, slowly, and this was sure to shatter it.

The idea of kids being hurt by the people who were supposed to protect them wasn’t new to Sam. Too often, he saw kids who were relieved when fosters didn’t pay attention to them. Neglect hurt too, but it was easier to pretend everything was okay when you weren’t covered in bruises. Sam had managed to avoid seeing any of his kids in the hospital; the cases he saw like this were usually the ones where he was taking the kids away from the abuser. He had never given the kid to the abuser instead. And of all his kids, it was Peter.

Sam hated himself for thinking that. For thinking that if it hadn’t been Peter, if it had been any of the other kids, he would be handling this better. He’d be at the police station, or in his office, making sure this was handled properly, that West wasn’t going to squirm out of the charges. He’d probably check in on Molly Hayes, who was probably scared to death and might not have a single ally in that police station. If the rest of the people there were like the officer he spoke to... but the thought of Peter waking up without anybody there turned his stomach over.

Sam jumped out of the seat, and started pacing, pulling out his phone and dialing without looking. This wasn’t going to be proper protocol, and might be considered overkill, but Sam wasn’t going to let that stop him.

“Steve Rogers.”

“Steve. I need a favor. Are you doing anything important right now?”

“No. What do you need?” Sam could hear movement, Steve was already on his feet and working on getting out the door. He trusted Sam enough to agree without knowing what he was agreeing to, and Sam was grateful for that.

“A couple of kids got hurt by their foster father tonight.” The beeping sound of one of the holographic keypads paused for a second, and then resumed, faster, for the last three digits. “One of them was mine, he’s in the hospital right now. The other one I don’t know, but apparently some mutant abilities kicked in, in the excitement. The officer I spoke to said Xavier’s had been called to pick her up from the station, but I don’t know how long that’ll take. She knocked the guy out, gave him a concussion. And it started when she broke a bottle. Just... I need to know somebody’s at the station to make sure they’re not trying to blame this on her, or say she’s lying about how it went down. The guy’s lawyer might try to go that route. They probably wouldn’t, under normal circumstances, but they might at least try. I’d go see what I could do for her myself, but-”

“I’ll go. What’s her name, and what powers does she have?”

“Molly Hayes, and super strength. The officer didn’t say much. Peter talked a little about her when I spoke to him the other day. He said she was hyper and talked too much, but he liked her. I think she’s 12.”

“It’s Peter in the hospital?” Steve had heard Sam talk about Peter. He knew Peter was Sam’s favorite, even if Sam would insist he didn’t have any. “Sam, I’m so-”

“Thanks Steve. I really appreciate this,” Sam cut him off. Steve should feel sorry for May and Ben Parker, not for him.

“Happy to help.” Sam could hear wind in the background now. Steve must be on his motorcycle now, and Sam felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. Cap didn’t enjoy abusing his title on the average person, but Sam knew he wouldn’t hesitate to play the American Icon card if he thought Molly was being mistreated because of her abilities. Sam could practically see Steve: jaw set, larger than life, even out of uniform, staring down anybody who dared imply that a little girl was to blame for a grown man putting a teenager in the hospital. A teenager he was supposed to be taking care of. Also, meeting Captain America should make her night a little better, and if she had super strength, he could help her with that. Sam should absolutely not feel guilty about not going himself. “I’ll be there in ten minutes. You just take care of Peter.” For a moment, his throat closed, and Sam couldn’t breathe again.

“Thanks, man. I owe you.” Sam was proud of how steady his voice sounded.

“No, you don’t.” Without giving him time to argue the point Steve hung up. Sam tossed his phone on a chair without pausing in his sweep about the room. Maybe he should call Bruce to come down and sit with him. Peter would be excited to meet him, he had practically memorized one of Bruce’s papers, and Sam did not want to sit here alone, waiting-

“Hey.” Sam’s head shot up. Peter’s voice was weak and shaky, his good eye was heavy lidded, his bad one barely a slit, but Sam had never felt more relief in his life.

“Do you... do you really think they’re going to try to blame this on Molly?” It took a second, for Sam to figure out what Peter was talking about.

“You heard- Peter how long have you been awake?” Peter shifted, pulled a face that made Sam think he regretted it. Sam reached out, pressing the button that moved the bed up, and Peter relaxed into the pillow, looking relieved that he didn’t need to work to sit up.

“A couple minutes... since you said some institute was going to pick Molly up.”

“And you didn’t get my attention? That is information I would’ve liked to have, Peter.” Sam had to put up with teammates refusing to ask for help, he didn’t need Peter doing it as well. Peter ignored him. Another trait he had in common with the team.

“Is Molly going to get in trouble?” he asked again, and Sam sighed.

“No. Even if they wanted to blame it on her, I’ve got a friend going down there now to make sure they can’t. He won’t let anything happen to her, trust me.” Peter’s jaw clenched, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and when they opened again they were clearer, harder. Sam flashed back to the image he had of Steve in his head, with a set jaw.

“But they might try?”

“They might. But it won’t work.” Peter seemed to accept that, but the look didn’t leave his eyes.

“And... and West?”

“In lockup. Molly called 911, and then hit him from behind with a baseball bat. He had a concussion, but it wasn’t bad.” Unfortunately. “He won’t be able to get out of this, he’s going to jail.” Peter looked relieved. Sam sighed, and leaned in, resisting the urge to wrap Peter in a hug. “Listen, I’m not going to tell you you shouldn’t have defended Molly. Or pretend I’m not proud that you did. And I know I’ll never convince you not to do it again. But next time, call 911 before you jump in. And maybe make a plan first. I’m happy Molly wasn’t hurt badly, but I’d be much, much happier if you weren’t either. Please?”

Peter agreed, quietly, and Sam left to get the doctor, who told them both that Peter would be released in the morning, with a prescription for pain medication and instructions to take it easy, at least until his ribs healed. They had already wrapped his hand in a cast, he couldn’t get it wet, and he’d need to come back in a few weeks to get it taken off. Peter nodded along silently while she spoke, taking it in without comment, shoulders tense and mouth thin. Sam was reminded of Steve again, who acted the same way whenever he had to go to medical.

An idea was forming in Sam’s mind, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about it yet.

Peter was still quiet after the doctor left, still not meeting Sam’s eyes. Sam gripped the arms of his chair tightly to stop himself from jumping up and hugging Peter. Even if there weren’t regulations forbidding him from doing so, it would probably hurt him right now. “I can go get your stuff for you if you want it... you’ll probably be happier with a book, right?” Peter nodded, the relief clear on his face. “OK. While I’m doing that, you need to call your aunt and uncle. They couldn’t come,” Sam said, before Peter could open his mouth to ask, “they really shouldn’t be near sick people, but I’ve kept them updated.” Sam had been texting May since he hung up with Ben. She was surprisingly good at it, for a woman pushing eighty. He had told her Peter woke up while the doctor was explaining how to wrap his cast to take a shower, and promised he’d have Peter call as soon as he could. Peter looked unhappy at the prospect. Sam knew that he hated how much Ben and May worried about him, and Peter was probably feeling guilty about how much worse this would make them feel.

Steve did the same thing with Bucky. The rest of the team he’d admit injuries to, but never Bucky. At first Sam thought it was a pride thing, that Steve had spent so many years being rescued by Bucky he felt the need to prove he could handle himself now. It took a while to figure out that Steve just didn’t like seeing his best friend worried. Sam would’ve found it endearing if Cap hadn’t once turned a hairline fracture into a broken ankle because he was waiting for Bucky to leave the room to sit down and ask for Bruce to look at it. 

The idea was starting to solidify, without Sam’s permission, and despite the voices screaming that it would go horribly, painfully wrong.

Sam held out his phone to Peter. “You can use my phone to call.” Sam paused, considering. “My friend might call to update on Molly. His name is Steve. You have my permission to pick up and take a message.” Peter perked up at that. Sam guessed Peter wouldn’t relax completely until he knew Molly would be alright. He accepted the phone, almost dropping it before he remembered his cast. “You’re gonna be alright?” Sam asked, reluctant to leave him alone, even though West’s house was close, and he’d probably be back before May and Ben had finished fretting over him. “Do you know which book you want?”

“I was reading The First Intelligent Life on Earth by uh... by Tony Stark. It’s about his work on AIs.” Peter was making it very difficult to talk himself out of going through with his idea.

“Yeah, that sounds like a title he’d pick. I’ll go get that, and some of your clothes, and your contact stuff and glasses. Anything else you need?”

“Food? Non-hospital food? Please?” Peter looked hopeful, and Sam smiled.

“I’ll see what I can do. Call your aunt and uncle, I’ll be right back.” Peter nodded, and dialed clumsily with his left hand. Sam got up and walked to the door slowly, giving Peter plenty of time to call him back if he changed his mind and decided he didn’t want to be alone. He was halfway out the door when Peter stopped him.

“Sam?” Sam swiveled, and saw Peter, the phone still in his left hand, number dialed but the call button hadn’t been hit yet. Peter looked small, and fragile, and scared, and he didn’t meet Sam’s eyes, when he said, quietly, “I’m sorry you have to deal with this.”

Sam’s resolve broke. He walked back to Peter’s bedside, and sat down on the side of the mattress so he could force Peter to look at him when he said, “This is not your fault. You have nothing to be sorry about. Harrison West hurt people he was supposed to protect, and that’s on him. And he will be punished for that. You? You did nothing wrong. You have nothing to feel sorry, or guilty, about. And I would deal with much worse than this to try to protect you.” Peter’s good eye was bright, but he wasn’t crying, and Sam guessed he wouldn’t until he was alone. While Sam had been talking, Peter’s hand had come out and latched onto the end of Sam’s sleeve. “Do you understand, Peter?” Peter noded, small movements so he wouldn’t move his throat too much, but his eyes weren’t on Sam anymore. “Peter, I need you to tell me. I need you to look at me and say that this wasn’t your fault.”

Peter’s eyes moved back to Sam, and opened his mouth, lower lip wavering for a moment, before saying, “I... I know I’m not a great foster kid...”

“You are a great kid, and any one of those parents would be lucky to have you. This was not your fault. I need to hear you say so Peter.”

Peter’s throat worked for a minute, and he whispered, “It wasn’t my fault.” He didn’t sound like he believed it, but it was a start.

“Okay. Okay, now I want you to keep saying that until you believe it.” That won him a small smile. “Alright. Now, I have to apologize.” Peter looked surprised, but didn’t interrupt. “I’m the one who put you there, and I am so sorry for that. My job is to keep you out of environments like that, and I failed. I’m so, so, sorry for that.”

“You didn’t-”

“I didn’t do a good enough job this time. Next time I promise to do better. If you still trust me to.”

“Of course I trust you, you couldn’t have known-”

“But I should’ve been more cautious. And I’m sorry.” Peter had latched onto Sam’s sleeve again, and made sure he looked Sam in the eye when he said,

“Sam. I trust you.” Sam released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “Hey,” Peter said, genuinely grinning for the first time since he woke up, and gestured to his swollen eye, “maybe this time I really will get a cybernetic eye.” That surprised a laugh out of Sam.

“At least with your contacts, you wouldn’t have to wear a monocle.”

“I dunno. I think a monocle would suit me.” And Sam laughed, a real genuine laugh that matched Peter's smile.

There was no way Sam was talking himself out of it now. He was going to make Captain America and Iron Man Peter Parker’s foster parents.

The trick was going to be convincing them that it was their idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is my personal headcanon that DC's comics are the comics in Marvel's universe and vice versa. Thus, the Flash sneakers. Because if Peter Parker is going to relate to any DC character, it's Barry Allen.  
> (P.S. Flash is not Sam's favorite, he's just trying to make Peter like him)
> 
> This is my first fic, feedback would be very, very much appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the sake of this story, let's pretend that, although Hydra did infiltrate S.H.I.E.L.D., it wasn't as big of a breach as it was in canon. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s still intact, and Fury's still in charge.
> 
> The permanent residents of the tower are all the original Avengers, plus Coulson, Jane, and Darcy.
> 
> I took off the expected chapter number, because I haven't gotten to a single thing that was on my outline for chapter 2 yet. This might turn out to be longer than I expected. I'll let you know if I ever think I have a solid number again.

Peter felt the tears start to fall as soon as Sam left the room. He had held them in for as long as he could, and once or twice when they were talking he thought he might be able to hold them off indefinitely. Then Sam left, and Peter fell apart. That was okay though, if nobody saw it, it didn’t count, right?

Peter adored Sam. Really, he did. Outside of Aunt May and Uncle Ben, Sam was the only adult who would be upset if something happened to him. Depending on the day, Uncle Ben sometimes had trouble remembering what he wanted Peter to know and what he didn’t. On one of his bad days, he had confided that he was grateful to Sam, because when he and Aunt May died, Peter wouldn’t be alone. Peter had tried not to think about that, about the idea of losing them, but the look in Sam’s eyes just now had pulled him back to that moment, had almost made him believe Sam would be there for him forever, like Uncle Ben thought he would.

But Peter knew that he was only one of many for Sam, and he couldn’t expect Sam to treat him any differently than his however many other kids. Peter wasn’t special to Sam, so he couldn’t rely on him. He was Sam’s job, not Sam’s friend. He couldn’t fall apart in front of Sam, because Sam wouldn’t always be there to put him back together, and Aunt May and Uncle Ben had their hands full holding themselves together.

So Peter put himself back together. He let himself cry until the tears stopped coming, took 5 deep breaths, dried his eyes, and helped himself to the water the doctor had left on his bedside table. Then, finally, he hit the call button on Sam’s phone, which had remained dialed since before Sam left. There wasn’t even a full ring before it was picked up.

“Hello? Sam?” Aunt May’s voice came through the receiver, more worried than Peter had ever heard her, and he hated it. He wished Sam had waited until he had woken up to call them, but he understood why he hadn’t.

“Hey, Aunt May, it’s me.” Peter wished his voice didn’t sound so horse, but no amount of throat clearing had been able to fix it for now.

“Peter! Oh, thank god, Sam told me you were awake, but I didn’t want to believe it until I heard your voice!” Peter could hear Uncle Ben in the background, hurriedly asking questions, but Aunt May was shushing him. Her voice sounded muffled when she said, “I won’t be able to hear a thing he says if you don’t be quiet, he could be dying and I wouldn’t know with you were talking over him.”

“I’m not dying Aunt May,” Peter said, but he doubted that would convince her, his voice sounding as ragged as it was.

“Well, I’m sure you’re not dear, if you were I would be there, and not a force on earth would stop me, but I needed to prove a point to your uncle.” That made Peter smile, and it hurt, but Peter felt as though Aunt May would know if he flinched, so he held it in. Her voice softened when she said, “How are you, really, dear?”

“I’m fine.” That probably would’ve been more convincing if he hadn’t followed it with two deep, hacking smokers coughs.

“Yes, you sound healthy as a horse.”

“My lungs are a little weak right now.”

“Oh is that all?”  
“... my throat’s not doing super hot either. And my left eye is a little swollen.” Aunt May sighed, deep and resigned, and Peter debated rolling his eyes or wincing. He went with the eye roll; it hurt less.

“You know Sam already gave me a list of your injuries, right? I’m not asking how you body is, I’m asking how you are.” Peter’s mouth worked to form an answer for a moment, but he realized he had none. None he was wanted to give her, anyway.

“Ask him when he gets out.”

“Hush, Ben, one thing at a time. He’s too good at wiggling out of these questions without your help.”

“I get out tomorrow morning.”

“See?”

“No, I don’t because I can’t hear him. If you put it on speaker, I’d be able to follow the conversation!” Aunt May heaved another sigh, and Peter giggled. In Peter’s mind’s eye, Aunt May stared Uncle Ben in the eye while she hit the speaker button forcefully. “Hey, how'd ya do that without looking?” Peter burst out laughing, which quickly regressed into a coughing fit.

“Peter? Peter? Are you OK?”

“I’m fine,” Peter managed between a few last coughs, “just don’t make me... *cough* laugh.” He carefully adjusted the oxygen tube to fit more comfortably in his nose, so he could take deeper breaths.

“Two nuns and a rabbi walk into a bar-”

“He meant don’t make him laugh for now, not ruin jokes forever.” Peter snorted, but managed to hold the laugh in.

“Hey!”

“You’d think one of them would’ve seen it,” Peter finished, grinning. It didn’t hurt so bad, anymore. Uncle Ben let out a hearty laugh, while Aunt May groaned.

“Don’t encourage him, Peter dear, I’ve been listening to these for more than fifty years now, I can’t take any more.”

“See May? I told you he’d be fine. He’s a tough one, our boy.” The glow of warmth Peter felt at the phrase ‘our boy’ was comforting.

“I just won’t have the two of you teaming up on me. I won’t have it.”

“That’s ok, Aunt May, you and I will just have to team up on Uncle Ben tomorrow.”

“Hey, now.”

“Well, thank you Peter, that does sound fair.”

It was amazing, really, what just hearing their voices did to him. How much tension had left his shoulders, how much easier it was to breathe. Peter could survive anything so long as he could call his Aunt and Uncle afterwards.

“But don’t think you managed to avoid my question young man. How are you?” Aunt May’s tone was serious now, and Peter knew he wasn’t going to be able to get out of it now.

“I’m fine. Or,” he added when he heard Aunt May take a deep breath to start in on him, “I will be. He didn’t break anything that won’t heal, didn’t even rip my contacts. He’s going to jail, for sure Sam said, so that’s one less worry. Molly’s going to some special boarding school, so she’ll be fine. They should treat her well.” Peter wasn’t sure if they knew about her abilities, and mutants was a topic that had never been brought up between them before, so he held his tongue on that part.

“Yes, Sam said that the school deals with homeless kids all the time, so they’ll be equipped to handle her situation.” She paused for a moment, and continued quietly, “Is it rude to say I almost wish you were a mutant, so you could go with her?” Peter smiled, softly, and silently berated himself for ever doubting what side they would fall on.

“Hell, even if he still lived with us I’d be wishing he were a mutant to go to that school.” There was a slapping sound, but Uncle Ben continued on relentlessly anyway. “Your Aunt googled it, Peter, and it looks awesome. You’d love the science  labs. And that scientist you told us about teaches there, what’s-his-face? The big-”

“Hank McCoy, yeah,” Peter said. “I’ll just have to see if there’s a way I can visit Molly.” There was a beeping sound, and Peter pulled the phone away from his ear to see a call waiting notification. The caller ID simply read “Steve.” “Hey, Sam’s friend who was checking in on Molly is calling. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”  
“If you don’t come straight here after being discharged, you will be in so much trouble-”

“I love you both, too. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I love you dear. Get a lot of sleep tonight, alright?”

“I love you too Peter, and listen to your Aunt, get some rest.” Peter’s smile didn’t die until he hung up, and switched to the new call.

“Sam Wilson’s phone.”

“Who is this?” the voice was clearly confused, and Peter allowed himself a second to be amused before answering.

“Hi, sorry, I’m Peter. Sam had to step out for a minute, but he gave me permission to take a message. You’re the Steve who went to check on Molly, right?” There was wind in the background. Convertible, maybe? But who owned, nevermind used, a convertible in New York City? The only reason to use a car here was to create a barrier between you and other New Yorkers. Or, worse, tourists. And he’d never be able to move quickly enough to create wind. Maybe it’s just windy out.

“Oh. Pleasure to speak to you, Peter.”

“Ummm... Pleasure to speak to you too?”

“Can you tell Sam that Molly’s going to be fine? The lawyer seemed like he might try to go after her, but I managed to head him off. Ororo Munroe and Scott Summers picked her up, they’ll make sure she’s taken care of.” The last bit of tension Peter hadn’t known he’d been holding onto left his shoulders.

“Oh, good. Thank god. Sam said you wouldn’t let them do anything to her but... well, it’s nice to know for sure. Ummm... do you have a number for the school? I think I’d like to talk to her myself if I can...” He also really wanted to meet Hank McCoy, but Peter would’ve wanted to get in touch with Molly regardless of nerdy hero worship. Of all the foster siblings he’d met over the years, Molly was one of his favorites. This had been the second “home” they’d shared.

“Sure. Do you have something to write with?” Peter glanced around, and at that second Sam walked back in the room, holding Peter’s backpack and a duffel bag. Peter made grabby hands at the backpack, and Sam passed it over with only a slight tilt of the head. Peter dug out his notebook and a pencil, and scribbled down the number that Steve rattled out.

“Thanks! Sam just walked in. I’ll hand you over.” Sam took the phone and plopped the duffel near enough to the bed for Peter to rustle through it until he found his book. Sam was right: he really did feel happier with his book in his hands. Said social worker was making ‘uh-huh’ noises into the phone as Steve presumably repeated what he had told Peter, but apparently with more detail. As he listened, he pulled a take-out bag and a bottle of soda out of the duffel. Peter’s eyes widened, and he dropped his book in his lap to snatch the food out of Sam’s hands. Sam grinned, and mouthed, ‘don’t tell the doctor,’ at him. Peter winked in reply, his mouth already full of bacon cheeseburger. For the next minute or so, he focused all of his concentration on stuffing as much of the burger in his mouth as possible, and tuned Sam out.

“Thanks, Cap.” Peter’s gaze snapped back to Sam, mid chew. “I owe you one. Yes, I do, I’ll buy you a burger or something, whether you like it or not. Yeah, probably. Bye.” Sam hung up, and pulled out another burger and soda for himself. “You took the one without pickles, right? I know how you feel about-”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Peter said, spraying half-eaten cheeseburger everywhere. Sam calmly handed Peter his drink, eyes raised sceptically, and Peter used it to wash down the food as quickly as possible. “Cap? As in, Captain America? Is that who you were just talking to? Is that who _I_ was just talking to?” Sam nodded, casually, but was clearly watching Peter’s reaction carefully.

Peter knew Sam was on the Avengers, of course. The guy didn’t exactly wear a mask, and Peter had watched the fights that made it to the news very carefully. Also, Sam had been wearing his flight suit before he left to get Peter’s stuff, that was a bit of a giveaway. Peter had always been careful not to mention his tendency to nerd out over the Avengers to Sam, partly because he figured Sam would probably find it annoying, but mostly because he had always half hoped that the day might come where Sam would introduce him to one, or a few, of them. Peter figured that if Sam knew how big of a fan he was, he wouldn’t, for fear of Peter embarrassing him.

“Oh my god, I talked to _Captain America_?!?!?! And you _didn’t warn me_?!?! I wasn’t... I don’t think I was even polite, I didn’t say goodbye, I didn’t even give him a chance to say goodbye, I just announced you and handed the phone away, that’s bad, right? Aunt May complains about people doing that, she’s all about manners, so that means it’s rude, right? I said um, I distinctly remember saying um, he probably thinks I’m an idiot-” Well, there goes that plan. Sam’s never going to introduce him now.

“Peter, Peter, calm down. C’mon now, Cap doesn't care if you say ‘um.’ He actually told me that you seemed like a really nice kid just now.” Peter froze.

“No he didn’t, you’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“He did. He was very impressed with how much you seemed to care about Molly. He actually said that Molly said really great things about you. Apparently she’s been telling him all about how you saved her.” Peter felt his face heat up, and he suddenly couldn't look away from his bedspread.

“But I didn’t really save her. I jumped into a situation I couldn’t handle. She’s the one who called the police, and the one who knocked him out.” Captain America wouldn’t be impressed if he knew how Peter really handled the situation.

“Yeah,” Sam replied, softly, with that tone that Peter could never decipher, “but she wouldn’t’ve been able to if you hadn’t tried to help her. If she had been alone in that house, who knows what would’ve happened. If either of you had been alone, he could’ve hurt that person far worse than what happened today. How about we say it was a team effort?”

“Yeah, okay. I guess.” Molly was the all star of the team, though. She made the winning shot. Peter knew better than to argue the point with Sam, but he probably knew what Peter was thinking, because he had that look in his eyes that he always got when he saw right through Peter. Sometimes, Peter’s life would be easier if Sam was a little less good at his job. “I’m gonna... I’m gonna read for a little bit, and then go to sleep. Is that alright?”

“Yeah, of course it is,” Sam replied, apparently deciding not to press the issue. “Do you mind if I stay in here and do my paperwork?” Peter shook his head, and settled in, while Sam pulled his paperwork out, and made himself comfortable in the chair.

 

* * *

 

 

 

When Peter woke up the next morning, Sam was asleep in the chair. An inspection in the bathroom mirror told him that even though the swelling had gone down, and his face was now almost the right shape, the bruises had gotten darker and uglier overnight. Peter quietly read until Sam woke up, and within an hour of that Peter was discharged and sitting comfortably in the passenger seat of Sam’s car, with a bottle full of pain medication and instructions to use it as soon as he got home. It wasn’t until then that he realized he had no idea where he was supposed to go now. When Peter asked, Sam replied,

“Well, first we’re going to Silent Meadows.” Peter grimaced. “Aunt May told me you’d agreed to stop by first thing today.” That wasn’t how Peter remembered the conversation.

“Yeah, but maaaybe we should wait until the bruises fade a little bit before we go. They have weak hearts, you know, we really shouldn’t give them more cause to worry, and you know I look worse than I am-”

“Nope, not happening, kid. Sorry, but Aunt May’s glare trumps your Bambi eyes any day. I am not getting on that woman’s bad side.” Yeah, Peter couldn’t blame him for that, he supposed.

15 minutes later, they were pulling into the parking lot at Silent Meadows, and climbing the stairs to May and Ben’s apartment. Ben threw open the door as soon as Sam’s hand hit the wood, and pulled them inside so he could look at Peter’s face in the light.

“I’m fine, Uncle Ben, really, it looks worse than it feels-”

“Hmph.” Uncle Ben turned around without giving Peter a proper reply, limping into the kitchen with his cane. Peter and Sam exchanged a look, but before either of them could comment, Ben was back, frozen steak in his free hand. “Put this on your eye, son. Sometimes the best remedies are the old remedies. Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t listen to your doctor, take whatever medicine they gave you, but no reason not to supplement it with a method that’s survived more testing.” Without waiting for agreement, he held the steak up to Peter’s face, causing Peter to jump back when it touched his skin. Ben snorted, “Looks worse than it feels, huh?”

“It’s cold,” Peter replied, bristling. He took the steak out of his uncles hands and applied it himself anyway. Couldn’t hurt, right? That was when May rolled into the room in her wheelchair, eyes widening when they landed on Peter.

“Peter! Come here let me see-”

“He’s fine, May, it looks worse than it feels.”

“Oh, don’t even humor him Ben. You sit down Peter, off your feet. Did you eat” Peter shook his head. “I’ll be right back, pancakes sounds like a good healing breakfast, don’t you think? Pancakes, and eggs. You sit down too, Sam, take off your shoes. I can’t thank you enough for all your texts last night.” ‘Too many texts,’ Peter mouthed at him, but Sam smiled at Aunt May like he hadn’t seen. He totally had though. “We would’ve gone crazy without them. Nearly went crazy with them. The food’ll be ready in five minutes, I’ll get on that now.” With that, she was gone, leaving Sam and Peter staring at the empty kitchen door. Ben seemed unperturbed.

“May always feels better when she’s got somebody to take care of. Thank god you two are here now, I don’t know how much more love and kindness I could’ve taken.” Peter grinned at him from behind the meat, and Sam chuckled.

“I feel for you man. But hey, those are the sacrifices you make to make a marriage work.”

“Damn straight they are. Hard work, that’s what marriage is, don’t let anybody tell you differently.”

“Don’t listen to him, boys!” Aunt May’s voice carried from the kitchen, “He’s been taking advantage of every second of it! He had three helpings of french toast this morning!”

“Don’t hold my comfort food against me, May! We all have different ways of coping with stress! And I didn’t exactly trap you in the kitchen until you made it! I couldn’t let your hard work go to waste!” Peter and Sam were openly laughing now.

The first time Sam had met the couple, he had been thrown by the bickering. Peter remembered how hard he had to work in the beginning to keep up with the volley of jabs and wisecracks. Peter suspected they had tried to confuse him on purpose, as they had really hated his last social worker. Peter sure did as little as possible to help; he had been having too much fun watching Sam look helpless. By now, he had learned how to sit back and enjoy the show, and May and Ben treated him like part of the family.

 

Ten minutes later they were settled and eating pancakes at the kitchen table. Even Ben managed to eat some, despite this being his second breakfast, and May had some things to say about that. Ben distracted her by asking about Molly, and Sam reassured them she would be well taken care of.

“So,” Ben said, heaving himself to lean on his elbow, “what’s the plan now, Sam? Where’s Peter going this time?” Peter’s head dropped to stare at his plate, and he started picking at his food automatically. He had long since learned that he wasn’t supposed to get involved in this part of the process. Ben and May weren’t either, but that never stopped them. Sam gulped down his last bite of pancakes, and carefully replied,

“Well, I haven’t had time to vet a new family, and I’d rather not send you to a halfway house,” thank god, Peter thought, “and it’s clear that I need to spend more time checking the families out-”

“We talked about that,” Peter murmured, “not your fault, remember?”

“I know what you said, but-”

“Peter’s right Sam, if you had known what West was capable of, you never would’ve sent any kids their. We all know that,” May interjected, and Peter and Ben nodded in agreement. Sam looked relieved, and continued,

“I’m grateful for your faith, but the point stands. I need to do more thorough background checks.”

“ _That_ we won’t try to talk you out of,” Ben said. Aunt May elbowed him, but looked relieved. Peter was still picking at his food.

“Yes, well, until I find a family I trust, I was thinking Peter could stay with me.” Peter froze, hardly daring to believe he heard that right. May and Ben exchanged a look, one Peter couldn’t decipher, but even if he could’ve he wouldn't have been able to because his brain was in the process of rebooting.

“Is that common? For social workers to take in kids between families?” asked Aunt May, carefully.

“No, but it’s not unheard of. I had to get special permission for it, but under the circumstances, my boss understood.” Sam wasn’t meeting anybody’s eyes, but he was doing a better job of acting casual than anybody else at the table. Ben looked like he was trying to work out a new, interesting puzzle. Aunt May looked like she was about to burst with questions. Peter, meanwhile, was doing his best not to burst, period.

“I’m going to stay with you? In Avengers Tower?” He knew he sounded too excited, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

“Well, my lease on my old apartment hasn’t run out if you’d prefer-”

“NO!” Peter cut him off, and at Sam’s knowing smile, he tried to adopt a more casual tone. “Avenger’s Tower is... fine. It’s fine.” Sam was clearly biting his lip to avoid laughing, and Peter appreciated the effort, really he did.

“Does this mean Peter gets to meet the other Avengers?” Aunt May asked, and Peter was relieved he didn’t have to ask the question himself, because that would just seem desperate.

“My apartment does include access to common areas.” Peter squeaked, and everybody else was polite enough to ignore it. “And none of them are very good at minding their own business, they’ll all want to meet him, probably.” Sam looked at Peter, and suddenly looked concerned. “Breath, Peter.” Oh, yeah. That was important. Peter took a deep breath.

“Cool. That sounds cool. Yeah, I won’t... I won’t object to that.” He shrugged. “No problem.” Uncle Ben snickered, and May elbowed him again. Sam just looked amused.

“Well, I was hoping you could hang out here while I clear you with security, and get everything set up,” Sam said, turning to May and Ben for confirmation.   
“Oh, absolutely, Peter can stay here as long as you need. The doctors will be along later for a check up, but there’s no reason Peter can’t be here for that,” May said, beaming at the prospect of spending the day with her nephew. Peter was relieved; it would give him time to get out his panic attack before going to the tower. Avengers Tower. Yeah, that would take adjusting to.

“Alright. I should get going then, but I’ll be back by dinnertime.” Sam stood to bring his plate to the sink, and Aunt May trailed after him to brush his hands away before he could try to clean it himself. Uncle Ben stood, old bones creaking, and grabbed his cane.

“I’ll walk you out. Peter, help your Aunt with the dishes.”

“Don’t worry Ben, we’ll save a couple for you.”

“Dammit.”

Peter couldn’t stop grinning.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Ben walked Sam to the door as promised, but before Sam could step out, Ben stopped him.

“You’re up to something, young man. You’ve got a look in your eye. If you can’t tell, me, I’ll respect that, but I’ll also be ornery about it.” Sam blinked at him, and he added, “I hate being out of the loop.” Sam had the decency to look sheepish, and glanced back to the kitchen to make sure Peter and Aunt May weren’t listening. The water was running, and he could hear them chatting, so he replied, quietly,

“I may have an ulterior motive for taking Peter to the tower. I’m hoping I can introduce him to some friends who I think would be a good match. I didn’t want to say anything and get anybody’s hopes up.” Ben looked surprised. “You were thinking I was going to try to make it permanent, huh?” It was Ben’s turn to look sheepish now.

“I was worried you were still feeling guilty about West, and was going to make it up to him by keeping him yourself, yes. Now, I wouldn’t have a problem with him staying with you, you’re the best thing that’s happened to that boy since May’s heart attack, but I didn’t want you doing it for the wrong reasons.”

“Oh, I considered it. The problem is, if it didn’t work out, I’d have to give him to a new social worker. That... I couldn’t do that.” Ben quietly agreed that the little family would be disappointed if Peter was transferred to a new social worker, and then grasped Sam’s shoulder in a fatherly way.

“We appreciate everything you’ve done for him. Lord knows he’s needed a lot, not by any fault of his own, and May and I... well, we wouldn’t have been able to do it, even if we were allowed. Just having him here for a day exhausts us. We love having him, don’t get me wrong, every second is worth it, but we wouldn’t have been able to take care of him long term. Even before we moved here, it was hard. Knowing you’re watching out for him takes a great worry off our shoulders. We need you to know that.” Sam’s chest felt tight, and his throat was blocked, but he somehow managed to thank Ben. “Now, then these friends... I wouldn’t’ve happened to see them on the news, would I? Fighting an army of robots, or bees, or chiuauas, or the like?”

Sam shrugged. “Maybe once or twice?” he said, “I don’t know how often you watch the news.” Ben rolled his eyes.

“May watches just about every fight you get in, chewing her nails off worrying about you.” That surprised Sam, but Ben didn’t seem to notice. “You’re right though, probably best not to tell Peter. Don’t want to make him panic.”

“The big thing I need to deal with, is they don’t know they want to adopt yet.” Ben raised his eyebrows. “They will. Want to adopt, that is. They just need some... motivation. They’ll fall in love with him, no way they won’t. Even if it doesn’t work out, he’ll at least leave with a future internship at Stark Industries. Tony does not like to see talent slip away to the competition.” Ben grinned.

“Just that would be more than enough to make him happy. You know that, don’t you?” Sam glanced at the kitchen again, where he could hear the muffled sounds of May and Peter laughing.

“Yeah. It’s still less than he deserves, though.”  Ben nodded in agreement, and ushered Sam out with a smile and a wave.

God, Sam didn’t want to let him down.

 

* * *

 

 

Sam had sent out word that he needed a team meeting in the kitchen, but he knew better than to think they’d all be there. The team could be relied upon to show up on time to life or death situations, and that was about it. If anybody else was there, it would be because they were hungry.

When Sam walked into the kitchen, the mangled microwave was hanging by its electrical cord over the counter. Clint was sitting on the table, swinging his legs, with a bowl of cereal. Coulson was sitting in the chair nearest to him, occasionally stealing cereal from the bowl while reading the newspaper. Steve was sitting at the table, in a chair, like a human being, eating a sandwich. He was pointedly turned away from the microwave. Clint shrugged, and Sam decided he was going to ignore it too. Instead, he opened the fridge and tried to find something that would not require microwaving.

“Hey, Steve? Thanks again for helping out last night.” Eh, he was still full from pancakes anyway. He grabbed the milk instead and rummaged through the cabinets for a glass. “You made my job a hell of a lot easier.” Steve shook his head and swallowed his bite of sandwich.

“No problem. I liked Molly, she was a sweet kid. Really energetic, she bounced back pretty well. By the time Ororo and Scott got there, she was telling me all about how she wanted her mutant name to be ‘Princess Powerful.’”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Clint said around a mouthful of cereal, “but I until you brought Storm and Cyclops into it, I was hoping it was a three way. It’s not a three way, is it?” Coulson whacked him on the leg with the now rolled up newspaper.

“It’s a bit of a story... I’ll tell the whole thing when everybody gets here.” Steve's brow furrowed, quizzically.

“Is that what the team meeting is about?” Sam waved a hand dismissively.

“Tangentially related. I’m going to be... dealing with some of the fallout from last night for a while, and the team might notice a change. Thought it would be best if everybody was warned beforehand.” Steve nodded in understanding, and returned to his sandwich.

“Will I need to update Fury?” Coulson asked.

“Couldn’t hurt,” he decided, “but I don’t think he’s on the need to know list.”

“Wait, you report things to him? He doesn’t just bug all our stuff?” Clint asked.

“No, he does,” Coulson replied, “then he compares my reports to the recordings to see if I’m trying to hide anything from him.”

“I don’t want context,” Tony said walking in, “but I want you all to know I’m going to upgrade our security. Right after this meeting, probably.” He spun to point at Steve, and added, “I am on time. I want you to note that. On. Time.”

“No, you’re not,” Steve said, but he was smiling.

“I am less late than everybody except you, Coulson, and wings over there. That’s on time. Clint doesn’t count, he’s eating.” Clint nodded in agreement, mouth full of cereal. “Who killed my microwave?”

Over the next fifteen minutes, the team trickled in. Bruce came first, looking as though he had just woken up. He headed straight for the kettle, muttering about not being able to drink caffeine under his breath. After him was Natasha and Bucky, both wearing workout clothes, apparently having come from the gym. Steve was wearing similar clothes; Sam guessed he had been in the gym too, but left before them to get to the meeting on time, even though he had to have known it wouldn’t start without the other two. Because Steve was considerate like that. Jane, Thor, and Darcy were the last to arrive, Darcy dragging the other two. Jane looked as though she wanted nothing more than to return to her lab, and Thor looked as though he just wanted to go wherever Jane wanted to go.

It took them even longer to get settled, as everybody needed their drink of choice, (non-alcoholic only during official meetings, enforced by Steve, undermined by Tony, who always tried his hardest anyway, because, "How the hell am I supposed to get through these things sober, Jesus Steve, next you'll want me to go to board meetings sober too." It never worked, but Tony kept trying.) and, for some, food as well. They were very lucky Tony had a tendency to go big or go home, because even as enormous as the kitchen was, they still barely fit. Jane was sitting on Thor’s lap, and Bucky and Natasha had taken spots on the counter. Clint had been forced into an actual chair by Phil, and was leaning back onto two legs, completely unaware of the glint in Natasha’s eyes that guaranteed he was going to get knocked over if he kept it up. Bruce and Darcy had somehow fallen into a debate about some TV show they both watched. Tony was threatening to make Bucky’s next arm sing Macho Man every hour on the hour in memory of the fallen microwave, and Bucky was threatening said hypothetical arm with very creative demises. Steve looked like he was trying to decide between intervening or laughing. Sam looked around, and found himself trying to imagine where Peter would fit into this chaos. He would probably be suggesting alternative songs to Tony. Or talking to Bruce and Darcy about the TV show, because he was pretty sure Peter watched the same one. He had less restraint than Natasha, but was also nicer; he’d probably have poked Clint enough to make him flail, but not fall. The thought made Sam smile.

Sam waited until it looked like Cap was about to intervene before he began the meeting. After getting everybody’s attention, he explained the bare bones of what had happened. They reacted pretty much exactly as he expected too. Steve was quiet, he had already heard most of it. Tony had clearly already heard the part Steve was involved in, and he was leaning into Steve’s side looking pensive. Coulson was stony faced, but his eyes were furious. Jane and Darcy gasped at all the right places, and looked horrified. Thor was glowering. A muscle was twitching in Clint’s jaw. Bucky was gripping the edge of the counter a little too tight. Natasha was subtly trying to ask where West was now, and Sam was considering telling her. Bruce had a slightly green tint around the eyes, and he was clutching his tea tightly enough Sam thought it might break. When Sam finished, Clint leaned forward in his chair, and pointed at Sam with his spoon, and said,

“You want this kid to stay here, don’t you?” At Sam’s shocked silence, Clint spread his hands to indicate the room. “Why else would you be telling us all this? I mean, besides giving us all the burning desire to kill somebody.” Sam sighed.

“I don’t know where else to put him. It’ll take a couple weeks to find a new family, and I don’t want to put him in some shitty half-way house while he’s still healing. The best solution I could find was bring him home myself.”

“You want to give him access to the common areas?” asked Bruce, a worried look on his face. Sam could only guess at the worst case scenarios running through his head.

“I don’t actually spend a whole lotta time in my apartment. I don’t want him to feel like I’m abandoning him there while I go hang out with my famous friends.”

“You really think that’s a good idea?” Coulson asked, with raised eyebrows. “There’s a microwave hanging from our ceiling.”

“If you guys don’t think we should do it, we won’t do it. That’s what this meeting is about. There’s gonna be a teenager in my apartment, and whether or not he has access to the common floors is up for discussion.” The Avengers exchanged looks with varying amounts of skepticism, and Sam plowed on. It was too late to turn back now. “He’s a good kid. Well behaved, and incredibly smart. Really, he read one of your papers, Bruce, and he understood it well enough to explain it to me.” Bruce looked taken aback by that. “He‘s a big fan, actually, if he meets you, and there’s no pressure one way or the other, he’ll have lots of questions. You, too,” he added, turning to Jane, “he’s read a lot of your work as well.” Jane looked flattered. She didn’t get nearly as much media attention as her male colleagues, so it was extra exciting when she found a fan.

“Not me?” Tony asked, gesturing at himself, "kids love me. I'm more famous than them," he said, gesturing to Jane and Bruce with a sweep of his hand. He looked hurt. Sam shrugged.

“He likes biology and physics better than engineering, I guess.” Tony looked personally insulted, and Sam snickered internally. The best way to make sure Tony talked to Peter, was to make it sound like Peter might not want to. Now, Tony would go out of his way to dazzle Peter with science. The more he could encourage competition between the scientists to impress him, the better.

“We have a microwave dangling from our ceiling,” Coulson said again, sounding strained now. “This isn’t the healthiest environment-”

“We have pledged a duty to serve and protect the people of this world,” Thor said, in a tone that brokered no argument. “This seems a simple enough way to do so, and for a child who seems more than deserving of our protection.”

“Here, here,” Clint agreed dryly.

“Who says you guys get a say in it?” Tony asked, indignant. “It’s my tower. I can allow anybody I want anywhere I want. The kid needs a place to stay, he can stay here. End of discussion.”

“I’m not saying we shouldn’t let him stay here,” Coulson clarified, “I’m saying we will need to be on our best behavior.” Heads all around the room swiveled to Bucky, who sighed dramatically.

“I promise not to kill any appliances while a teenager is living with us.”

“Glad you can make that sacrifice,” Steve said, and how Steve could say some of the things he had to say with a straight face, Sam would never know. He had been listening to the conversation so far stony faced and silent. “but that’s not the only rule we’re going to need if we’re going to do this right.”

“What did you have in mind, Cap?” Sam asked.

“No swearing.” Everybody tried talking at once, but Steve held up a hand and they silenced. “I know he’s probably already heard most of it, but keep vulgarity in general to a minimum. Got it?” There was grumbling, but Steve seemed to take it as agreement. “I also want to teach him defense.” This one received silence from the room, so Steve continued. “As long as he’s here, we should make sure he knows what to do if he gets in a situation like that again.”

“Peter’s got asthma, Cap,” Sam said, “we can’t be too rough on him. But the basics shouldn’t hurt.”

“I know several fighting techniques that work well for small people,” Natasha said nodding, her eyes narrowed as though she was already planning the lessons in her head. “Dodging, how to fall without getting hurt... it shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“I’ve seen him hurt himself with a ping pong paddle,” Sam said, “go easy on him.”

“Hey, those things are fucking hard,” Darcy interjected. “Fudging,” she amended, at Cap’s glare. “I for one am looking forward to having some young blood around here. Y’all are old and boring.” Thor was the only one who looked offended.

"We also need to come up with protocols for emergency situations," Steve said, in his Cap voice. "If the tower gets attacked while he's here, we need to be ready to get him somewhere safe." 

"Agreed," Sam said immediately. Coulson nodded thoughtfully.

"I can work out the protocols for that tonight, and give them to you all tomorrow."

"Thank you," Steve said, nodding at him. "That's all I've got for now, but I reserve the right to add more as we go." There was sound of general agreement.

“Well, I’ve got his file here,” Sam said, plopping it on the table. “feel free to go through it. If you have any questions, ask. He’ll be here sometime after dinner, but you won’t see him until tomorrow, he’s got instructions to take his meds and go to sleep.”

Bruce was already thumbing through the file, and paused on the first page. “His parents were Richard and Mary Parker?” he asked, surprised.

“Uhh, yeah, if that’s what it says, I guess. Why? Did you know them?”

“Not well,” Bruce replied, brow furrowed as he read the description of their accident. “They were competitors. When I was trying to crack the super soldier serum,” he added, in response to the quizzical looks.

“They were working on the serum too?” Steve asked, as Tony and Jane peered over Bruce’s shoulder to try to look at the pictures.

“Not really. Or at least, not in the same way I was. I was funded by the military,” Bruce explained, handing the pictures to his fellow scientists. “They were funded by Oscorp. Back then, it was a pharmaceutical company. While I was looking at the soldier part of it, they were trying to crack the healing abilities. Eventually, Oscorp decided to branch out, and try to go for both, figured they could double the profit. The Parkers tried to pull the plug, but Oscorp claimed they owned the research, and could use it with or without them. Last I heard, they intended to sue.” Bruce looked up from the file, lips pursed. “Their plane went down before they could. It was... quite the scandal.”

“Woooow,” Sam said, eyes wide. “I never knew that.”

“If Peter’s half as smart as they were, he’s even more intelligent than you said,” Bruce said, turning back to Sam. “They were very close, if the rumors I heard were true.”

“But Oscorp never released a super serum?” Steve asked.

“Either they managed to hide their research before they went down, or Oscorp couldn’t do it without them,” Bruce answered, returning to the file. Natasha was reading over his shoulder now.

“I remember hearing about that,” Jane said, clutching the photo of Mary. “It was when I was in grad school, and Mary Parker had done research there. She was very well liked. They held a memorial for her.”

“I remember Oscorp going into weapons because of super serum research,” Tony said, “but I don’t remember hearing about this. Granted, I wouldn’t have found it worth worrying about if it didn’t involved solid, mechanical weaponry."

“Is this really his IQ?” Bruce said suddenly, head shooting up to look at Sam, who shrugged again.

“IQ scores don’t mean much, Bruce, you know that. You can’t measure intelligence.”

“Yeah, but even with a pretty broad margin of error, this is high. Like, really high.” Tony looked over his shoulder and whistled.

“Damn. That’s almost as high as mine.”

“Gotta turn it into a competition, don’t ya Stark?” Clint asked, shaking his head.

“Holy shit,” Jane said, eyes on the file. She didn't see Steve's glare.

“I told you he was smart,” Sam said defensively. “I’m gonna go set everything up with security.”

“Excuse me, Sam,” a voice suddenly sounded from the ceiling, and everybody glanced up. “I have taken the liberty of scanning the picture from the file into my database, and have sent it to security. All forms necessary for his stay have been completed.” Sam beamed.

"That's that then," Sam said, smiling around at the team. "We're gonna be living with a teenager."

Only Thor and Darcy smiled back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter's mom is a scientist too, because I do what I want.
> 
> I rushed this a little bit to give me time to work on actual school work before exams, I have a whole ton of writing that I have been procrastinating. By writing. The next update won't come as quickly, I'm gonna apologize about that in advance.
> 
> To everybody who kudos-ed, commented, or bookmarked, thank you! I treasure every one, it means the world to me to see that people like my work.


	3. Chapter 3

After Sam left to get Peter, the rest of the team trailed out of the kitchen, each with a place to be. Jane returned to her lab, Thor following behind to keep her company. With a peck on the lips for Steve, Tony returned to his lab as well. Steve had a suspicion he was going to try to figure out exactly what would impress a teenager the most. Clint, Natasha, Darcy, and Bucky had migrated to the living room to flip through channels together. Phil was sitting with them, but he was typing what Steve guessed were the security protocols into a tablet. Bruce had walked off with the part of Peter’s file that had information about Richard and Mary Parker, with a mumbled explanation about how now that he had a better clearance, he was going to look a few things up. That just left Steve, with the rest of the file, and a free afternoon to pour over it.

So he did just that.

He intended to just flip through it. He had thought he already knew plenty about Peter Parker, from Sam’s descriptions of him. Sam had told him quite a bit, more than he had meant to, probably. Steve had heard all about Peter’s struggles to fit into a new family, while still trying to make his old one feel as though they came first. He knew Peter had a tendency to use science the same way Steve himself had used art when he lost his parents, as a means to distract himself from immediate worries of his everyday life. Sam had dedicated more time to Peter than most of his other kids combined, and had done so for the entire time Steve had known him. Steve knew Peter was special, to Sam at least.

Then, he heard Molly’s description of him. How he had stood up and shouted when West had started hitting her, and when that didn’t work, how he had jumped in to pull West off of her himself. She told him about how, even before that, he helped her with her homework and walked her home after school before going to visit his Aunt and Uncle, even though it was out of his way. “A lot of kids I’ve lived with weren’t very nice,” Molly had said. “Especially the older kids. It’s wasn’t their fault. Nobody ever taught them how to be. But Peter’s different. He makes the younger kids laugh, even when they don’t want to.”

At some point while reading the file, Steve had moved into the penthouse. By now, he felt more comfortable there than he did in his own apartment. He spread the papers out on the bed around him, and his impression of Peter Parker, already skewed by Sam and Molly’s descriptions, solidified into a more clear image. Notes in Sam’s handwriting popped out of the margins, framing more professional, typed, words with notes like, “Hamburgers: no pickles, no mustard, everything else OK,” and “Harry Potter, yes, maybe suggest Tolkien?” and “science fair, 3:00, Sat. 10th.”  Steve’s favorite was the doodle that was apparently a caricature of another social worker, which was drawn to resemble a pufferfish. There was an arrow pointing to it which simply read, “Bad, Peter, no,” but Steve noticed Sam hadn’t covered it up or torn it off, the way he could’ve.

Finally, there was a picture of an older couple, a frail looking woman in a wheelchair and a white-haired man with a cane and oxygen tank, on either side of a small boy with floppy brown hair, who Steve could only assume was Peter. All three were grinning broadly, and Peter was clutching a blue ribbon that read “First Prize.” They were standing in front of a cardboard display stand, covered with colored paper, that read “Cell Phone Spectrophotometer.” When Steve flipped it over he saw the words, “Peter, age 11, with May and Ben,” in Sam’s writing.

“Steve?” J.A.R.V.I.S. asked, and Steve looked up, surprised to see that several hours had gone by, and it was now dark out. “You asked to be informed when Lt. Wilson returned with Mr. Parker. They have just arrived, and are on their way to Lt. Wilson’s apartment now.” Steve nodded, and rubbed a hand over his face tiredly.

“How’re his injuries, J.A.R.V.I.S.?”

“His hand is in a cast, and scans indicate his breathing is slightly irregular, but his bruises appear to be healing well.” Steve sighed, and rolled off the bed onto his feet.

“Thanks. Keep an eye on him, and if there seem to be any complications, let me know, alright?”

“Of course, Captain.”

Steve made his way to the bathroom, and started going through the motions to prepare for bed. He was contemplating asking J.A.R.V.I.S. when he thought Tony would be back, or if that seemed clingy and desperate, when he heard movement in the bedroom. Smiling, he rinsed the toothpaste out of his mouth and returned, to find Tony laying on his stomach on the bed, poking through the papers. He didn’t look up when Steve walked in, but did turn his head for a kiss when Steve leaned down.

“Hey,” Tony said, “Did you read this whole thing?” Steve made a humming noise in response, and started collecting the papers and trying to put them in the proper order. Tony relinquished the papers in his hand, and rolled so he was sitting upright, leaning back on his hands. “Me too.”

“You’ve only been here a minute,” Steve said, laughing. “You know I don’t believe you when you say you can speed read, you can’t read that fast-”

“I retained that whole book, just because you don’t believe me-”

“Mmmhmm, what happened in it?”

“Some chick was kidnapped, there was a war, people died, it was very tragic.”

“Mhmm, what was the chick’s name?”

“Ummm... I think the writer was super sexist and didn’t give her a name.”

“Helena.”

“No, I’m Tony.” Steve smiled and shook his head as he tossed the now put together file onto the bedside table. Then, without warning, he pounced, pinning Tony to the bed and holding his wrists above his head before Tony could blink. Grinning widely at Tony’s look of surprise, he leaned down and pecked Tony on the lips.

“You can’t speed read Tony.” Tony pouted, sticking his bottom lip out comically far.

“Not fair. You know I can’t argue coherently with 240 lbs of hot blond on top of me.” Steve shrugged, and moved to roll off of him, but Tony’s newly freed hands shot out to hold him down. “That was not permission to move. You should know that by now. I thought I had trained you better than that.” Steve rolled his eyes, but moved back into his previous position, this time without pinning Tony’s hands, leaving them free to rest comfortably on Steve’s ass. Steve had no problem with this, but didn’t see how it would help them have a more coherent conversation.

“I did read the whole thing, for the record,” Tony said, smiling up at Steve, who raised his eyebrows at him. “I may have taken my time with it though. I asked J.A.R.V.I.S. to scan the pages he could see, and read them down in the lab.”

“Oh. You could’ve come up here and read them with me,” Steve said, carefully. Tony shrugged, but Steve thought he could sense a little bit of relief. Tony still had trouble seeking Steve out for company, scared as he was of forcing his presence where it wasn’t wanted. The idea that Steve might always want his presence hadn’t seemed to sink in yet. Steve was working on that. Steve leaned down and nuzzled his face into Tony’s neck, which made Tony hum happily.

“I was tinkering, too,” Tony said, tilting his head to accommodate Steve.

“Okay,” Steve said, leaving a little kiss before pulling back to look at Tony’s face. “Next time call me, and I’ll go to you instead.” Tony pulled Steve down into a kiss in response, this one deeper and longer than the previous ones, and when Steve pulled back he was panting.

“Seriously though,” Steve said, wanting to get the conversation out of the way before he lost the ability to communicate altogether. “what do you think?”

“What?” Tony asked, blinking rapidly. “The kid? He seemed fine. Smart, relatively well behaved... he shouldn’t be a problem. Actually,” Tony sat up suddenly, and Steve leaned back onto his knees to make room, “out of curiosity, did he remind you of anybody?” Steve blinked, but smiled, his arms resting on Tony’s shoulders.

“He did. I didn’t think you’d agree with me though.” Tony snorted, and shifted so he could sit upright and lean back on his hands, Steve hovering above his lap on his knees.

“I’m surprised you spotted it to be honest,” Tony said tilting his head at Steve. “I mean, he’s just like you, but you’re not usually-”

“Wait,” Steve said, brow furrowing, “me? I was talking about you Tony.”

“I- what? No. He’s,” Tony waved a hand inarticulately, “he’s totally you. All self-sacrificing and crap. Taking care of his aunt and uncle, getting into fights with bullies. Sam actually wrote, ‘can’t keep his mouth shut around bullies.’ Little kid who can’t turn away from bullies, even though he's half their size, asthmatic, and will almost assuredly lose? That’s you, Steve.” Steve could feel himself blushing, but was determined to ignore it.

“Genius little boy? Too smart for his own good? Nearly burnt a house down because he got caught up in an experiment?” Steve retaliated, because really. Peter was a kid left to fend for himself at too young of an age, and used science, something he understood well, to escape a world and people that were more difficult to understand. Steve knew better than to bring that part of it into the conversation though. Tony was looking exasperated.

“Yeah, no. This kid is you with more of an interest in science.” Steve shook his head, and opened his mouth to argue, but Tony cut him off. “Steve. He spent the first year in the system running away to his aunt and uncle because, and I quote, ‘they need me to take care of them.’ When he was 8. Then he jumped in between a little girl and a drunk man three times his size. He’s you, minus the super serum.”

“You’re saying you wouldn’t do those things?” Steve asked, knowing better than to deny how he would’ve handled those situations. Tony waved his hand as though he could waft the question away.

“Not the same way this kid, or you, do. The single-minded determination and lack of any kind of thought for your own welfare are your qualities. Not mine.” Steve leaned in, shifting his hands so they were resting on the back of Tony’s neck, and pulled him close.

“He doesn’t like pickles on his hamburgers,” Steve whispered, and Tony burst out laughing. “You don’t like pickles either-” But Tony laughed over him, only staying upright because Steve was holding onto him.

“Now,” Tony said, catching his breath, “now, you’re really reaching Cap.” Steve didn’t reply, just pulled Tony in for a light kiss. smiling the whole time. “If you’re trying to distract me, you’re going to have to do better than that,” Tony said, wrapping his arms around Steve, and fluttering his eyelashes at him.

Steve didn’t bring it up again for the rest of the night, but he still thought Peter was more like Tony than him. He supposed they couldn’t really have this argument until they actually met the boy.

 

* * *

 

Sam’s guest bedroom was bigger and nicer than any of Peter’s bedrooms, ever. Even when he was living with his parents, and after that with Uncle Ben and Aunt May, his bedroom had been about half this size. Peter was absolutely, in no way, intimidated by that.

“You okay, bud?” Sam asked, stopped behind Peter in the doorway, blocked by Peter’s sudden stop.

“Y-yeah. I’m fine.” Peter moved out of the way so Sam could bring his duffel bag in. He had insisted on carrying it up, even though Peter could’ve easily done it himself. Sam tossed it on the bed, and turned to smile reassuringly at Peter. Peter smiled weakly back. It was pretty clear Sam wasn’t fooled.

“C’mon. Quick tour of the apartment. Tomorrow, I’ll show you some of the other floors, but for now we’ll stick to what’s mine.” Sam gestured around the room. “To begin, this is the guest bedroom, temporarily known as, ‘your room.’” Peter, who would normally have made a sarcastic comment at that, just nodded, weakly. Sam lead him out the door and down the hallway, pointing as they passed various rooms.  
“This one’s mine. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to wake me up, no matter how late.” Peter raised his eyebrows, but Sam just seemed to take it as tacit agreement, because he just kept going. “There’s the bathroom. Living room. Stairs. Steve’s right above us, and the gym is right below us, anything further away than those you’ll want to take the elevator.”

“Captain America’s apartment is right there?” Peter asked pointed up. “So Captain America could potentially be right above us, as we speak?” Sam gave Peter a look that roughly translated to ‘oh dear lord, this boy is hopeless,’ but Peter liked to think there was enough fondness mixed in to protect him from teasing.

“Yeah, he potentially could be. He probably isn’t though. He’s more or less moved in with Tony these days, and Tony’s in the penthouse.” Peter nodded, grateful Sam hadn’t commented on his utter fanboy-ness. “Peter? You know Cap’s just a guy, right?” Dammit.

Peter gave Sam an exasperated look. “Uh, duh. I know that. But there’s a difference between knowing it and believing it. And you can’t judge me for this. It’s easy for you to say’s ‘he’s just a guy’ when you live next to him, for lowly street urchins like me, it’s kind of a big deal to get this close to him.”

“You’re not a ‘lowly street urchin-’”

“Oh, that was so not my point.”

“I really thought I’d have to have this talk with you about Bruce, or Tony, not Cap. You never mentioned you were such a big Captain America fan.”

“Of course I didn’t, you’re Captain America’s best friend. That would’ve been embare- ohmigodIronManandtheHulkareheretoo, I completely forgot about them-”

“You forgot Tony Stark was in the building? His building? The only way he could’ve marked his territory less subtly would’ve been to make the name he stamped on it flash different colors.” Peter didn’t appear to hear him, as he was now hyperventilating, wide eyed and terrified looking. “Hey, hey, hey, are you alright? Take a deep breath, Pete, where’s your inhaler, I’ll get it for you-” Peter shook his head, his breathing evening out.   
“I’m fine. Just... it just kind of hit me just now. Where I am. I’m fine, Sam, I swear. I’m just... geeking out. A little bit,” he added, holding his thumb and forefinger about a millimeter apart. Sam still looked worried.

“Are you sure?” Peter nodded, a smile creeping onto his face as his breathing finally returned to normal.

“Sam?” he said quietly, looking calmer than he had since they had left Silent Meadows.

“Yeah?”

“The rest of the Avengers are in the same building as we are, aren’t they?”  
“Yes, yes they are, Peter.” Peter nodded, finally having seemed to have wrapped his head around that piece of knowledge.

“Okay. I think I can handle that now. I just needed to get the initial freak out out of my system.”

“Okay. You think you’ll be able to handle meeting them tomorrow?”

“Probably not, but that shouldn’t stop us from trying.” Sam burst out laughing, and pulled Peter into the next room.

“Well, if you need anything,” Sam said, grinning openly now, “you can just ask J.A.R.V.I.S.”

“Who’s Jarvis?”

“That would be me.” Peter jumped and gasped as a voice came from... somewhere. Where was a question Peter was attempting to solve, by turning his head and body as quickly as possible to look all around the room. “I am J.A.R.V.I.S., or Just Another Very Intelligent System. I run the tower, as well as all of Mr. Stark’s other residences. If you find yourself in need of assistance, all you need to do is ask. So long as you are in the building, I will answer.” Peter was gaping in amazement.

“You’re an AI?” he asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Oh my god, I’ve never met an AI before... is it rude to ask how you work?”

“Certainly not. However, the information is patented by Stark Technologies and carefully protected; my protocols do not allow me to answer.” Peter nodded in understanding.

“That’s cool. You can answer other questions though, right? Like, how much data do you process a minute, and if I’m talking to you here does that mean somebody else can’t talk to you somewhere else, and do you have cameras everywhere in the building? Like, will you be able to see me in the shower?”

“An exact number for data output is classified by Stark Industries, but for PR reasons I am authorized to tell you that it is higher than any other system in the world. As such, I am able to carry more than one conversation at once, with people in various locations.”

“Cool,” breathed Peter, staring at the ceiling now for lack of a face to look at.

“As for bathrooms, they do contain cameras, but those cameras are only activated if there is an emergency situation, or another one of my sensors has picked up signs of distress.”

“What kinds of distress signs can you pick up?”

“Elevated heart rate, body temperature, breathing patterns, and audible signals, are a few of many.” Peter’s eyes widened.

“Does that mean you know my heart rate right now?”  
“86 beats per minutes. A little high, but within a healthy range.” Peter turned to Sam with a delighted look on his face, and Sam grinned back.

“Yeah, J.A.R.V.I.S. is the greatest thing about living here, by far.”

“Thank you.” J.A.R.V.I.S. replied. Sam gestured for Peter to follow him.

“C’mon. Last room of the tour: the kitchen. Featuring,” he threw open the freezer, and pulled out two packages of something, “ice cream: the ultimate get well soon food. Wanna eat some on the couch and watch The Lego Movie with me?”

 

Two hours later Sam poked a sleeping Peter up off the couch to drag him to bed, his pain medication making him drowsy enough that he leaned on Sam’s shoulder with his eyes closed the whole way. Peter more or less fell onto the bed, and Sam just picked his legs up and tossed them on with him. He also tossed a throw over Peter, because it was easier than trying to pull the comforter out from underneath him. At least his head was on the pillow. As Sam moved to leave, he heard Peter call him, quietly,

“Sam?” Sam turned, and Peter’s eye’s were still closed when he said, “Thanks. For everything.” Then, he promptly rolled over and started snoring.

Now that Peter was here, there was no way Sam could let him move out of the tower. This had to work.

  


* * *

 

When Peter woke up the next morning, Sam was already awake and frying eggs in the kitchen. He was singing “Everything is Awesome,” under his breath, and, even though Peter was relieved he wasn’t the only one with that song stuck in his head after the movie last night, smiling and singing this early in the morning was just unacceptable, and Peter was going to make sure Sam knew that. As soon as his vocal cords woke up enough to form words instead of grunts.

“Well good morning, sunshine,” Sam grinned at him, flipping the eggs carefully. Peter flopped onto a chair, put his head on the counter, and folded his arms over it. Like all other morning people in the world, Sam did not pick up on the hint, and kept talking. “It’s Saturday, fortunately, so I don’t have to  work. I figured after breakfast I’d take you on that tour of the tower, and maybe introduce you to some Avengers. Sound good?” Peter grunted. “Tony’s agreed to give you limited lab access, only with a chaperone, so don’t get too excited, but you’ll get to see what Bruce, Jane, and Tony are working on.” Peter grunted again. “And Steve said he’s willing to teach you some defence, but I think we should wait until you’re a little more healed for that.” Another grunt. “I also told Clint he could use you for target practice, I hope you don’t mind, but if you’re going to be staying here you need to make yourself useful.” He grunted again. Sam sighed.

Sam reached over with the spatula and oked Peter with it until Peter finally adjusted himself so his head was resting in his arms, with his eyes poking out. They were bleary, and tired looking, and still a weird shade of purple, but they were open and on Sam, so he accepted it as good enough. “How do you like your eggs?”

Peter rubbed his good eye with the back of his hand, and looked thoughtful. “Poached. On a biscuit. With hollandaise sauce.”

“That’s nice. You’re getting over easy with toast. The toast might be buttered.”

“Ok,” Peter said, putting his head back down so his voice was muffled, “but it’s going on your review.” Sam’s smile was fond when he set the plate in front of Peter a minute later. Peter didn’t move, so Sam also poured him a cup of coffee. That got his attention. Peter sat up enough to take a few big gulps of the cooling coffee, and almost immediately pulled a disgusted face.

“Do you... not like coffee?” Peter shook his head, and took another huge sip, grimacing. “You don’t have to drink it you know. I’ve got milk, tea...”

“I need the caffeine right now,” Peter said, thickly, “I think the meds haven’t worn off quite yet. Waking up was hard.” Sam winced in sympathy, and pulled out the milk so Peter could at least use it to get the taste out of his mouth. He was very clearly not enjoying the coffee. “I don’t do this every morning. For the record. I usually just sleep late, so I have to wake up quickly to sprint out the door for the bus. This waking up slowly thing wouldn’t work well with that.” Sam chuckled as he settled down across from Peter with his own plate of eggs.

“Yeah, that sounds more like you.”

“What’re you doing up so early anyway?” Peter asked, poking at the yolks with a fork.

“Went for a run. Gotta get up early to try to compete with Cap.” Peter paused in dipping the toast in the yolk to raise his eyebrows at Sam. “I said try, smartass.”

Shortly after they finished the eggs and had cleared the table, there was a knock on the door. Peter turned to look at it, eyes wide, as the possibilities of who it might be flashed through his head.

“Huh,” Sam said, tilting his head.

“What?”

“At least one of the other people in this tower knows how to knock. I never knew that before,” Sam said, even as he started walking to the door. “Ah. It’s you. I should’ve known you’d be the one who knew how to knock.”

A slightly amused voice answered him, “I have the security protocols we talked about last night. I was hoping to go over them, just to make sure they’re clear.”

“Sure. C’mon in.” Sam stepped aside to reveal a man Peter didn’t recognise. He was wearing a well tailored suit, but was otherwise completely nondescript. He spotted Peter right away, and despite his average looks, Peter was immediately convinced that this man knew every single one of his secrets.

“Hello, Peter. My name is Agent Phil Coulson, of S.H.I.E.L.D. I was hoping to go over security protocols with you.”

“Phil is the liaison between the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Sam explained. “It’s his job to make sure we don’t wander off, or start international crises.”

“Do you guys start international crises a lot?” Peter asked, genuinely curious.

“Not really,” Sam said, at the same time that Agent Coulson said,

“Yes.” Peter looked at Sam with raised eyebrows, and Sam looked guilty.

“Listen Sam, if I need to tell you when I start international crises, you need to tell me.”

“You’ve never started an international crisis. You’ve never even been out of the country.”

“But if I did, I’d have to tell you about it.”

“What were those protocols you wanted to go over, Phil?” Sam turned to the agent with a pleading look on his face. Coulson’s eyes were dancing with amusement, but he took pity on Sam, and pulled out two manilla folders and handed one to each of them. Peter peeked inside his to see a list of procedures for if the tower was attacked.

“These are just a precaution,” the agent explained, apparently having seen the brief look of panic that crossed Peter’s face. “You very likely won’t need them, but the reason we manage to stay one step ahead is because we have things we might not need.” Peter nodded, and ventured a little further into the packet. There were some maps, which he had a feeling would come in handy regardless of whether or not the tower was attacked. “What it boils down to is find a staircase, and run downwards,” explained Agent Coulson. “It’s very similar to the evacuation plan for the average employee, but the personal floors are a little more... difficult to navigate. Not all of the stairs go all the way down. So, in the event that there is an emergency, you’re going to need to find the central staircase.”

Peter turned around and pointed to the stairs Sam had shown him earlier. “Those?”

“No. Those stairs only service the Avenger’s floors; the public staircase only goes to the common floor. Which means, you would need to go up past all of the Avenger's personal floors, and over to the other staircase to get out.”

“Oooookay,” Peter said, “so if there’s an emergency, and I’m in here, what do I do?”

“There is a separate elevator,” Coulson said, looking at Peter very seriously, “that only runs when the tower is in lockdown. It runs on an independent system, so even in the very unlikely event of a power outage, or somebody getting into the systems, it will still work. Right now, it is on the top floor, and is only programmed to go down. It’s meant only for evacuation, a means of getting guests, such as yourself, and other non-superhero people who are here a way to get out of the private floors safely. You can access it from any level on that staircase,” he said, indicating the same one Peter had asked about earlier. “It only goes down as far as the top public floor, to the executive office. Pepper Pott’s office. From there, it’s standard evacuation protocol. But you need to get there quickly,” he added “If somebody else is already on it, and past the floor you’re on, it can’t come back up. I don’t think Tony thought anybody other than Pepper and Rhodey would visit us.”

“Yeah, it’s weird how he didn’t anticipate our weekly wild parties, with all our non-powered friends.” Sam said, shaking his head.

“What do I do if I miss the elevator?” Peter asked, more than a little freaked out by now.

“There’s a safe room at the bottom of the private staircases. There are three private staircases, you’ll see them marked on the map, each one has an entrance. They doors will unlatch when the alarms go off. Once you’re inside, hit the big red button.”

“There’s a big red button?”

“There is a big red button.”

“Only for emergencies,” Sam said, wagging his finger at Peter, “no button pushing unless it’s a life or death situation.”

“But Saaaaaam,” Peter said, in his best whiny little kid voice, “you knoooow I’ve always wanted to press a big, red, ominous button!”

“Is it ominous?” Sam asked seriously, turning to Phil, “we know it’s big, and red, but I heard nothing about ominous.”

“It does glow,” Phil said, as though that was a perfectly normal thing to ask. “That seems pretty ominous to me.”

“You still can’t press it unless not pressing it will get you killed,” Sam said to Peter, who looked disappointed.

“What if not pressing it will just get me maimed?”

“Now you’re just trying to push your luck. Listen, if you agree not to press any buttons outside of emergency situations, I’ll take you on that tour of the tower.” Peter nodded, eagerly. “Fine. Go get changed. We’ll start at the top and work our way down.” Peter moved to go to his room, grinning.

“Wait,” Coulson said, calling Peter back. “I also wanted to give you this.” He held out a white tube, and Peter took it, confused. “It’s what S.H.I.E.L.D. medical uses on bruises. Not available to hospitals yet, but it’s the good stuff. Should make those go away in a couple days.” Peter reached up to touch his eye, suddenly self conscious. He had managed to forget about the bruises for a while. Coulson didn’t seem to notice. “And as for security, if there ever is an emergency, just ask J.A.R.V.I.S. where you’re supposed to go. He’ll help you.” Then, the agent politely excused himself, and was gone, leaving a blinking teenager in his wake.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I had a crappy week. I know I told you guys not to expect another chapter until I finished finals, but I needed a break from everything. Writing this has made for an excellent escape from the craziness that is my life right now. Every time the numbers for kudos, comments, or bookmarks went up, my day became brighter, and I want to thank everybody who left some love. You guys helped me get through a shit storm of a week, and I am incredibly grateful. 
> 
> The science fair project mentioned above was stolen from this website: http://www.sciencebuddies.org/science-fair-projects/project_ideas/Chem_p100.shtml  
> I have very little actual knowledge of science, as will probably become more and more obvious as this fic goes on. I am the person in the first chapter who says they like science, but really just watches Cosmos. If any of you have any interest in science, feel free to let me know where I mess up.
> 
> Up next: Peter (finally) meets the Avengers


	4. Chapter 4

Steve returned from his run with dull burns in his thighs and lungs, but otherwise feeling pretty good.. It was nowhere near Sam’s pain, made clear by the man in question leaning on his knees, sweating through his shirt, and panting in between reassurances that he “could do this all day.” Steve teased mercilessly of course, but he missed being able to run until he couldn't stand up straight, until he couldn't think about anything except stopping himself from collapsing. It bothered him sometimes, how easy it was now. The ache in his limbs would be gone in a matter of hours, minutes more likely. It took some of the satisfaction out of working out. It didn’t feel like he was _doing_ anything anymore.

But it was still better than sitting at home _not_ working out, so Steve ran everyday anyway, which drove Tony crazy and Sam crazier trying to keep up with him. It was better, now that he was running with Sam. Even if he wasn't making himself any faster or stronger, it was nice to have an excuse to hang out with Sam, and an opportunity to drive his friend a little crazy. That was always fun, at least.

Sam talked a little bit about Peter, at Steve's prompting, before he lost his breath. Sam seemed a little edgy about the subject- probably still blaming himself for Peter's trip to the hospital, and worried about the visit.

They parted when the elevator reached the appropriate floor, Sam wondering idly if Peter would be awake. Humming, Steve made his way to the kitchen, partly to grab an apple on his way to take a shower, but mostly just to see who was awake. Tony, Bruce, and Jane all kept weird hours. Jane’s research required a lot of star gazing, Bruce’s experiments were sometimes time-sensitive, and Tony’s engineering probably didn't force him to stay up for days on end, but that didn’t stop him from using it as an excuse. The three of them could rarely be counted on to keep set schedules, but Tony was asleep when Steve left, and considering he hadn’t slept at all the night before, probably still was. Thor, Clint, and Darcy could wander in any time between nine and eleven, depending when they went to bed. Bucky, Natasha, and Coulson were the most reliable, usually awake and eating breakfast when Steve returned from his run, when Sam and Steve would join them.

Except for today, apparently. Steve paused by the door, thrown by the empty kitchen. It had become the go-to gathering place for the team, and he had become accustomed to finding at least two people in it at all times. He poked his head in tentatively, half expecting an ambush, but was greeted with more empty space and silence. Slowly, he eased into the room, and picked an apple off the counter. Crossing, he peeked into the living room, which was also empty. Brow furrowed, he bit into the apple. It sounded extra loud and crunchy in t he silent kitchen. If the didn’t know better, Steve would’ve sworn it echoed.

“J.A.R.V.I.S.?” Steve called, trying his damnedest to keep the edge of panic out of his voice.

“Yes, Steve?” Steve held in a sigh of relief. He was unreasonably grateful for J.A.R.V.I.S.’s continuous presence sometimes. The fear of blinking and finding himself alone, again, was unbearable sometimes, but it became easier when he could just talk and always expect an answer. Also, J.A.R.V.I.S. teased less when answering Steve’s questions about youtube, or twitter, or ‘instabook’ as he called it in front of Tony, because Tony always made that indignant sputtering sound when Steve messed up modern terminology, and Steve kind of loved it.

"Where is everybody?"

"Sir is still in bed, as are Agent Barton, Mister Odinson, Dr. Foster and Ms. Lewis . Dr. Banner has fallen asleep in his lab. Agent Romanov and Mister Barnes are in the gym,” Steve’s brow furrowed further. Natasha and Bucky didn't usually like to work out this early. “Agent Coulson has completed his security protocols, and is preparing to brief Lt. Wilson and Mister Parker.” Steve nodded.

“And Peter? Is he still asleep?”

“Mister Parker has just woken, and is joining Lt. Wilson for breakfast.”

“Alright,” Steve said, “let me know if they decide to leave Sam’s apartment before I get back to the kitchen.” He was not being nosy, he was just _concerned_ , he told himself. He wanted to make sure Peter’s stay at the tower went smoothly. J.A.R.V.I.S., fortunately, didn’t seem to find anything wrong with the request, and agreed without further comment, leaving Steve in silence again.

The sound of snoring when he reached Tony’s room was more welcome than it should’ve been. Steve couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his face when he saw Tony, sprawled out across the bed like a second blanket, face buried in the pillow that Steve had been sleeping on until a few hours ago. His effort to be quiet by tiptoeing past was undermined by him taking the last bite of his apple, and at the sound, Tony scrunched his nose and buried his face further into the pillow. It was too cute for Steve to feel sorry for disturbing him. Steve entered the bathroom quietly, placed the apple core in the garbage, stripped, and stepped into the shower.

By the time he exited it, steam streaming behind him, the apple had migrated to the counter, with a note next to it reading, ‘Do you want ANTS? This is how you get ants. Throw this out in the kitchen, you filthy animal. -Tony P.S. Going to the lab to get some work done. Company would not be turned down ;)’ Steve grinned stupidly at the note. It had taken a while to convince Tony that Steve preferred handwritten notes to messages relayed through J.A.R.V.I.S., but Tony had finally run out of paper related old-timer jokes, and relented. Steve tucked the note into his sketchbook, on his way out of the room, where it joined similar notes with the same handwriting.

Returning to the kitchen for a proper breakfast before he went down to the lab to force feed Tony one as well, (and throw away his apple) Steve was relieved to find it occupied. Coulson was quietly and calmly eating oatmeal and doing the crossword on a barstool, which was impressive considering the lengths Darcy was going through to trick him into plugging in wrong words. Steve supposed Coulson’s legendary patience and calm attitude were a direct result of sleeping in the same bed as Clint. Darcy was also eating oatmeal, although it looked like it might actually be mostly brown sugar and strawberries. Coulson glanced up when Steve walked in.

“There’s more oatmeal in the pot.” Steve nodded his thanks, and moved to serve himself some, tossing his apple core in the garbage as he went.

“Hey, Steve?” Darcy asked, leaning forward on her elbows over her bowl of brown sugar. Her voice was sweeter than usual, and her eyes actually batted at him. Steve had learned early on in his acquaintanceship with Darcy that such a voice was not to be trusted. He still couldn’t believe she’d convinced him “lmao” meant _that_. Granted, it did help him and Tony get together. “You know what you do better than anybody else on the whole team?”

“Mario Kart?” Coulson snorted. Probably because Steve was terrible at Mario Kart.

“Put up with Stark?” Coulson offered, not looking up from his crossword. Steve tried glaring at him, but there was no heat in it. Truth be told, Steve was a little proud that he had more patience for Tony than most of the team. It was easier to find alone time when Tony annoyed everybody else into leaving, until Steve was the last one standing. Which not to say Steve approved of Tony’s antics. They just worked to his advantage sometimes.

“No,” Darcy said, succeeding in glaring at Coulson.

“Put up with Barnes?” Steve swatted Coulson’s arm this time, but he still didn’t look away from the crossword.

“You’re dating _Clint_.” Darcy said, to which Coulson finally looked up, cocking his head in her direction.

“Fair point,” he conceded, returning to his puzzle. Darcy turned back to Steve, smug satisfaction on her face.

“Waffles!” Steve smiled at her, while spooning brown sugar into his own oatmeal.

“Thank you, Darcy,” he said politely, pretending not to notice her face fall at his lack of an immediate offer to provide her with waffles. “It’s very nice of you to say so.”

“You know who would probably really, _really_ appreciate waffles?” Darcy asked, clearly determined.

“Who?” Steve asked, and he would deny batting his eyes back at her, if either of them decided to call him out on it. Neither of them would, of course. Being Captain America had it’s perks, and being able to feign innocence completely believably was one of them.

“Peter.” Steve blinked at that, thrown for a moment. Then he tilted his head to the side, and looked at her thoughtfully.

“Do’ya think so?” he asked, finally, turning to look at Coulson for his opinion. “It is his first morning here. It might make him feel welcome.”

“He already ate,” Coulson said, “and don’t let Lewis manipulate you like that. She only wants waffles for herself.”

“Hey!”

“Well, I know that.”

“HEY!”

“But Peter might still like them. You’re sure he ate already?” Coulson nodded, while Darcy pouted.

“I was just down there going over security protocols with him. Here’s your packet, by the way,” he added, plopping a manilla envelope on the table. “To sum up: whoever’s closest to him needs to help him get out. Not much else you don’t already know. I told him about the escape routes. He seems like a nice kid. Probably not a spy.”

“Was that a worry?” Darcy asked, genuinely curious.

“That’s always a worry,” Coulson replied, rolling his eyes toward Steve, as though Steve would also be thinking, ‘poor, naive civilian.’ Steve wasn’t sure if Coulson was joking or not. “I made copies for everybody, but it isn’t that different for our protocols for other guests.”

“Do I get one?” Darcy asked.

“No, you count as one of our other guests.”

“I live here!”

“Somebody, probably Thor, left the door open, and you snuck in. I haven’t figured out how to get you out. You’re like a stray puppy.” Darcy considered that.

“Puppies are cute. Everybody likes puppies. Also, Thor let me in on purpose, he loves me.”

Coulson was distracted from responding by the appearance of Bruce, whose hair was matted, and his stubble growing unchecked. He clearly had not made it back to his room last night.

“Yikes,” Darcy said, lacking the tact of Phil and Steve. “Did you sleep at all?” Bruce blinked at her, moving towards the electric kettle.

“Yes.”

“It doesn’t count unless you were laying down.”

“Oh. Then no.”

“You should go to bed,” Steve said, trying not to sound too much like a mother hen. The rest of the team always teased him for that, but he couldn’t help himself. “You look like you’re going to fall asleep on your feet.” Bruce shook his head, yawning.

“I need to check on an experiment in half an hour anyway. I’ll go to sleep after that. Is that oatmeal up for grabs?” They nodded, and Bruce pulled a bowl out of the cupboard to help himself. He added a spoonful of brown sugar, and sat himself down at the bar with the rest of them. “Hey, Phil, how high is your clearance level?”

Phil frowned, and looked at Bruce over his newspaper. “Level 7. Why?”

“I’m level 5,” Bruce said, playing with his oatmeal more than eating it, “and last night when I tried to see if S.H.I.E.L.D. had anything on the Parkers, I found some stuff... but almost all of it was covered in black ink.” Steve paused mid-bite, frowning.

“They would’ve been under surveillance, or at least their work would’ve, if they were as close to cracking the serum as you said they were.” Phil said, leaning back in his chair thoughtfully, “but it was a long time ago. Are you sure you want to look into this?” Bruce nodded, looking down at his oatmeal.

“I think I’d just feel better... if I knew. I couldn’t really look into it, when it happened, but it never... felt... right.” He looked up, to meet Phil’s eyes over his oatmeal. “It’s probably nothing. I’d just... rather know. If it is. Nothing, that is.”

“If it’s covered in black ink, it doesn’t sound like nothing,” Darcy said. “They wouldn’t do that unless something shifty happened. Would they?”  
“Anything that had to do with the serum would’ve been highly classified. It might not necessarily mean anything,” Coulson explained.

“If you don’t find anything, or say it’s above my pay grade, I’ll let it go, Phil,” Bruce promised, “but I’d really appreciate it if you checked. Just in case.” Phil nodded in agreement, and returned to his crossword.

“Are you planning on telling Peter you knew his parents?” Steve asked, leaning on the counter with his bowl. Bruce frowned, considering, and took a moment to think before replying, carefully.

“I didn’t really _know_ them. He’d probably find it weird wouldn’t he? Kind of creepy?” Steve shrugged.

“Beats me. I mean, he probably won’t be here long, but he might appreciate hearing that you at least remember them.” Bruce leaned his head on his fist, lines appearing between his eyebrows, and looked thoughtful.

“Whatever you do, you should decide before you meet him,” Darcy advised. “You don’t want to act all-” The elevator slid open, revealing Sam and a short, brunette teenager in a too big sweatshirt. Bruce choked on the spoonful of oatmeal he had just put in his mouth.

“Ok,” Sam said, stepping out, and pulling the wide-eyed teenager in his wake. “First stop on the tour: the kitchen. Hey, guys.” Sam’s smile was a little too bright, and his words a little too cheery. Steve could tell Sam was nervous, but nobody else seemed to notice. “This is Peter, you’ve all heard about him. Peter, this is Steve, Bruce, and Darcy,” he said, indicating each person as he said their name. “and you’ve already met Phil.”

Peter was small, smaller than Steve would’ve expected a 14 year old to be. The hoodie only served to exaggerate his small frame. One of his eyes was still a nasty purple color, but it was turning yellow on the edges. More bruising was peeking out the collar of his hoodie, and one hand was in a cast. He stared at the four people in the kitchen with wide eyes, obviously hoping they would speak first, and give him some indication about how he was supposed to act. Darcy seemed to sense this, and reacted more quickly than the men. Or, she just didn’t like silence. Either way, she spoke first.

“Hey, how do you feel about waffles?” Peter blinked at her, clearly thinking maybe he hadn’t heard right, before replying,

“Generally positive?”

“See, Steve I told you. You should’ve made waffles.” She turned, to stare Steve down. “You should make waffles now.”

“You don’t have too,” Peter said, quickly. “Really, Sam already made me eggs for breakfast-”

“Ah, but what about second breakfast?” Darcy asked, very seriously. “Elevenses? Luncheon? Afternoon tea? Dinner? Supper?”

“I had a whole bite of lembas bread, really, I’m good.”

“That is enough to fill the stomach of a grown man,” Steve said, going for reassuring and welcoming. It didn't seem to work; Peter hardly seemed to want to meet Steve’s eyes.

“Yeah but you’ve never had _Steve’s_ waffles,” Darcy said, leaning forward in her chair so she could look at Peter more seriously. “They are the _best waffles ever_.”

“You don’t need to make waffles, really,” Peter insisted, looking in Steve’s general direction, but not quite managing to look _at_ Steve.

“I don’t mind,” Steve said, and Darcy punched the air.

“Darcy, stop trying to bully Peter into bullying Steve into making waffles for you,” Phil said, “Steve, stop letting yourself be bullied. You can make waffles for breakfast tomorrow.” Darcy’s face fell, and Steve nodded.

“As long as Peter’s sure he isn't hungry,” he said, finding it difficult to gauge how Peter really felt about the waffles. He didn't want Darcy to force Peter into asking for waffles, but he also didn't want Peter to think he _wasn't_ willing to make them.

“I’m sure,” Peter said, eyes wide and earnest, “but waffles tomorrow sounds... good. That sounds good.” Steve smiled at him, and Peter looked terrified.

“Waffles tomorrow, it is then,” Steve said. “It’s nice to finally meet you Peter. We’ve heard a lot about you from Sam.” Peter flushed crimson, and glanced at Sam, who tried to look reassuring.

“Only the good things, I promise,” Sam said, and turned to Bruce, who had been watching their interactions silently, still not eating his oatmeal. “Hey, Bruce, I think Peter had some questions for you about some of your papers, is it alright if-”

“You don’t have to,” Peter said quickly, glancing between Sam, the floor, and Bruce’s general direction. “I mean it’d be great if you could, I really enjoyed the one on the mutagenic effects of gamma radiation, but you don’t- you shouldn’t- I don’t want to be a bother-” The kid shifted his weight onto his toes and then back onto the balls of his feet, apparently torn between wanting desperately to speak and a crippling fear of embarrassing himself. Steve could practically see the nervous energy rolling off him in waves, and wished he knew how to communicate to the boy that this was a safe place.

“It’s not a bother,” Bruce said quickly, looking a little panicked. “I’m not- it’s just- I don’t-” he paused, cleared his throat, and began again, a little higher this time, though Steve was pretty sure he wouldn’t have noticed were it not for his advanced hearing. “Sam says you’re interested in biology?”

“That was a good example of how I was going to tell you _not_ to act,” Darcy hissed in Bruce’s ear as she walked past him to put her bowl in the sink. Peter just nodded enthusiastically, looking a little bit like a puppy, too scared to do much more for fear of his treat being taken away.

“You said you needed to check in on one of your experiments soon,” Steve offered. Bruce and Peter were clearly both struggling with words right now. “Is that something you’d be able to show Peter?”

“Y-yes,” Bruce said, jumping up, “thank you for reminding me, I need to check on my samples. It’s nothing classified, or dangerous. Would you like to...?” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely towards the elevator.

“Could I? I mean, I don’t want to get in the way-”

“Not at all,” Bruce moved towards the elevator, but Phil stopped him.

“Uh, Bruce? Your tea?”

“Ah... yes, thank you...” Bruce moved hastily to the kettle on the counter. “Sorry, this will only take a minute...”

“That’s alright, I should show Peter the rest of this floor while we’re here anyway,” Sam said, shooting Bruce a perplexed look. He guided Peter across the kitchen, and through the door to the living room. Darcy bounced after them. As soon as they disappeared, Bruce heaved a great sigh.

“Well, that could’ve gone better.” He rummaged through the cabinet for the tea bags. Steve grabbed them off the counter and handed them to him instead. “Thanks. Do you have the honey too?” Phil tossed it to him from the table. Bruce gave him a mock salute in thanks.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Steve said quietly, to make doubly sure he couldn’t be heard over Darcy’s running commentary. “Peter didn’t seem to notice anything wrong.” Bruce looked a little relieved, but asked,

“Do you think I should mention Richard and Mary?” Steve hesitated, so Phil answered instead.

“No,” he said, folding his newspaper, and moving to put his empty bowl and Bruce’s untouched full one in the sink. “We don’t know him well enough to know how he’d take it, and he likely won’t be here long enough for it to make a difference. It’s a simple risk-benefit analysis. The benefit of it going well doesn’t outway the risk that it will go poorly.” He paused after setting the bowls down. “Whose day is it for dishes?”

“Jane’s,” Steve and Bruce answered together. Phil thought for a moment, and then rinsed out the bowls before moving back to his place at the bar.

“He might appreciate it,” Steve said, carefully. “If it makes you uncomfortable, Bruce, you don’t have to, but if it comes up, I don’t think there’s any reason not to mention that you’d heard of them, and they seemed like good people.” Steve hesitated, before adding, “I don’t like the idea of hiding it from him. But it’s your call.” Bruce took off his glasses to rub a hand over his face, then through his hair.

“I’ll think about it.” He stirred the honey into his tea, and turned to greet Sam, Peter, and Darcy as they returned. “Ready to go? My lab’s only a few floors down.”

“Lead the way,” Sam said, gesturing for Bruce to move past them towards the elevator. Seemingly unable to hold it in anymore, Peter began bombarding Bruce with questions as he, the doctor, and Sam trailed into the elevator. Steve just caught a glimpse of Sam’s grin before the elevator doors slid shut.

“I like him,” Darcy declared, as soon as they were out of earshot. “He’s cute, and he understood my Lord of the Rings reference. He didn’t manage to convince you to be the J.J. to my Leslie Knope, but nobody’s perfect.”

“Steve and Jane are Leslie,” Phil said, in a tone that brokered no arguments. “You can be Tom. Or Donna.” Darcy thought about it for a moment before replying,

“Tom.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

“OK, we’ve got the armor, the starkphone 6, the designs for the next helicarrier model, and the new microwave,” Tony said, flicking through holographic blueprints as he listed them. “Oh, and Clint’s asking for boomerang arrows, god knows why, but I could always use a challenge. What do you think would spark a teenage genius’ interest?” He spun around in his chair to look at Dummy, whose claw-camera whiled at him from above the mangled microwave he was working to disassemble. Some of the pieces were salvageable. “Yeah, you’re right. Who isn’t impressed by the armor? The armor’s always a winner.” He waved his hand to clear the other blueprints, and pulled up the one that showed the latest Iron Man armor, expanding it so it was a holographic life-sized version of the armor. With another wave, the armor was spinning, and he pinpointed the parts he had marked for upgrades. Genius or no, the kid probably wasn’t a spy, and wouldn’t be able to remember what he saw well enough to replicate them later. Still... he should probably stick to a part that wasn’t super sensitive. Tony eyed the armor thoughtfully.

The toilet needed some repairs (pinching) and honestly, people were usually pretty impressed by the toilet. Teenage boys, especially. Although, some girls did have a weird jealousy of the ability to pee wherever you want. Frankly, Tony wished he had an excuse to sit down and take a load off 3-4 times a day; the grass is always greener and all that. Yeah. Toilet repairs...

Yeah, no. Tony did not need this kid to equate engineering with plumbing. He was trying to woo him, dammit! Besides, there were so many cooler things about the armor. The guns, (Steve would kill him if he showed a kid his guns. Again.) the arch reactor, (way WAY too sensitive of information) the repulsors.... Huh. The repulsors. Tony zoomed in on the gauntlets with a few sweeping hand movements. The repulsors made the suit flight capable, and could be used as a non-lethal weapon. Totally cool. Would definitely impress a teenager, but wasn’t dangerous or sensitive; most of Tony’s competitors could make rudimentary (to use the polite word) repulsors anyway. Tony’s were just light years ahead of them.

So, Tony set to work. He pulled out the latest repulsors, and started pulling them apart piece by miniscule piece. Eventually, he’d need to weld it back together, and he hoped that’s what he’d be doing when Peter made it to this stop on the tour. (J.A.R.V.I.S. had informed that a tour was officially on the itinerary for today). Everybody was always impressed by welding and other such things that involved fire and high temperatures.

Tony probably didn’t need to work this hard to impress the kid, of course, but some of the pictures in the files from his science fairs had been fairly impressive, considering his resources and age. If Peter had been a little luckier in life, he probably already would’ve been on SI’s radar. Frankly, Tony was a little insulted Sam hadn’t pointed him out sooner. It’s not as though the kid _wouldn’t_ want to work for SI. Stark Industries was every science genius’ dream company. Good benefits, vacation days, and plenty of opportunity to move up. Of course, most of that was to make up for the occasional super-villain attack, but still. Paid maternity AND paternity leave!

So, there was absolutely nothing Tony was doing here that he wouldn’t do for any other kid in Peter’s genius little shoes. He felt bad for the kid was all. He’d impress him with science, give him an internship, maybe a scholarship or two, and the kid would be set on the track he should’ve been from the start. The fact that the kid had a too big mouth and stubborn determination to do the right thing had nothing to do with it. Those were barely admirable traits anyway, and Peter should work on them if he didn’t want to get himself in trouble. In no way were they endearing.

Unless, of course, you had the brute force and piercing glare to back them up, because, alright, when Steve did it, it was pretty damn endearing. When his boyfriend wasn’t seemingly trying to get himself killed, anyway.

There was a crashing sound from the other side of the workshop, and Tony whipped his head around to see Dummy’s support structure duck underneath the workbench, clearly trying to trick Tony into thinking the microwave lying in pieces on the workshop floor had nothing to do with him. Tony sighed.

“Well, I did tell you to pull the circuit board out of the heating panel... I guess that’s quickest way to do it.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

So far, Avengers Tower was even better than Peter had imagined. He figured this was like what Disney World felt like, for normal kids who went to Disney World. He met Bruce Banner. THE Bruce Banner! Who talked science with him! Who showed him his experiment on the effects of alien technology recovered from their last fight on samples of e. coli! Captain America offered to make Peter waffles, and he was never going to recover, ever. And tomorrow, he was going to know what waffles made by Captain America tasted like.

They were going to taste like righteousness and patriotism, probably.

Now, Sam was leading him down a hallway towards Jane Foster’s lab. The woman who discovered Einstein Rosen-Bridges. That Jane Foster. All that had gone wrong in Peter’s life was being made up for right now.

Well, the whole parents dying, and being put in the system was still pretty bad... but the world was starting to make it up to him! Which probably meant something was going to go terribly wrong sometime soon. That seemed to be the way things worked, in Peter’s experience.

But everything was going so right, right now, that Peter could worry about that later. Sure, he stuttered a bit in front of Captain America (“Steve,” Peter reminded himself, “Sam said to call him Steve.”) and Dr. Banner, but they were probably used to that. _They were probably used to that right????_

“Sam?” Peter said, suddenly, stopping Sam in the middle of the hallway, and mid-rant about... something. Peter hadn’t been listening. “I didn’t embarrass myself, did I? Did I stutter too much? I didn’t think I did, but any stuttering is too much stuttering, right? Oh, god, they were probably just being nice, that was probably so annoying for them, they’re gonna think I’m _weird_ -”

“Peter! Calm down!” Sam cut him off, which was fair play, after all, Peter had interrupted him. “They didn’t see anything wrong. You were fine.” His hands were on Peter’s shoulders, and his voice was placating, and Peter had heard this tone before, every time he panicked about a new home. “You didn’t embarrass yourself, you’re not going to embarrass yourself. You’re in a building with two guys who didn’t know what wifi was until recently. The Avengers can handle a lot of weird. Your stuttering? Does not even register on their weird scale, I promise.” Peter took a deep breath, and looked hard at Sam’s face for a hint that he was lying. He didn’t find any. He took a deep breath.

“Okay. Okay.” Another breath. “Sorry. I thought I’d be alright but... dude, Bruce Banner just showed me alien technology.” Peter grinned at Sam, who let some tension out of his shoulders that Peter hadn’t realized had been there until now, and smiled reassuringly.

“You need to stop panicking, man. They’re just people.”

“Thor is a literal god.”

“A literal god who was one of the two who didn’t know what wifi was. Trust me, he’ll love you. He loves everybody who doesn’t challenge his might. And one or two who do.” Sam turned to continue down the hall, but kept one eye on Peter. “And for the record? Bruce was very impressed by your questions. You understood more of what he was saying than the S.H.I.E.L.D. science team he tried to explain it to the other day. You’re doing very well.” Peter sputtered and turned red, but was saved from replying by a door sweeping open, to reveal a laboratory containing a wonderland of scientific instruments, and a blond man who was probably five times Peter’s size lounging on an overstuffed leather couch. The man looked up from the tablet he was tapping on, and when he spotted Sam and Peter, his face lit up.

“Greetings!” he exclaimed, jumping up and throwing his arms out in what was apparently supposed to be a welcoming manner, but really better showed off his height and impressive arm muscles. “You must be the noble Peter Parker! Sam has regaled us with tales of your bravery! Your battle wounds are most telling; come, we will ease your pain with drink!” Thor beamed at him, and Peter felt his eyes widen and feet freeze, but he could do nothing about that. Thor was huge and... and had he just called Peter’s bruises battle wounds??? Peter looked back at Sam who was looking stern.

“No alcohol for minors, Thor. Coulson’s given you this lecture, I know he has.” Thor looked insulted.

“‘Tis a carbonated beverage,” he said, pulling some brightly colored cans out of a mini-fridge. “I heeded the Son of Coul’s words most strongly.” He looked at Peter, with a serious expression. “On Asgard, our children have their first sips of mead very young. I had not realized this was not so here. Which is more to your liking, orange or grape?”

‘Orange, please,” Peter said, grinning. “And I’d like to hear that story...” Thor heaved a sigh, and gestured at the empty couch, settling himself onto the other side.

“‘Tis a tale the Son of Coul wishes me not to tell anymore. The children’s caretakers were were most displeased.” Thor leaned in, handing over a can of orange soda, eyes twinkling mischievously. “So, I am trusting you not to tell him!” Peter beamed, taking the can, and settled in to the spot on the couch opposite Thor, while Sam helped himself to a grape drink.

Peter had a feeling he was going to like Thor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait- I know the first few chapters went up in relatively quick succession, but this one was tricky for me. I'm finally happy enough with it to post.
> 
> So Peter met some of the Avengers- and he didn't embarrass himself! (yet) Though convincing him of that might take a while. He was supposed to meet Tony this chapter as well, but Steve decided to take up too much room. Instead you get Tony totally not obsessing over how to impress a teenage boy. Next chapter, he will meet said boy, I promise. Hopefully, it will go up more quickly than this one did.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who bookmarked, kudos-ed, and especially commented. You guys made it much easier to push through the writer's block. Feel free to continue doing so, and thank you for sticking with it.


	5. Chapter 5

It was 4 o’clock. Four. O’clock. What was  _ taking  _ so long? Tours of the tower should not take so long to get to the main event. What else was there even to see?

“Jarvis,” Tony called from underneath a Quinjet engine (He had long since moved on from the repulsors), “what the fuck is taking so long?”

“Am I going to have to start a swear jar?” Steve’s sarcastic voice answered instead of Jarvis’, and Tony only just managed to stop himself from swearing again. He did not manage to stop himself from from hitting his head on the underside of the engine. Blinking stars out of his eyes, he moved to push himself out of underneath the engine. 

“That will probably not be super effective. I mean, it may curb Clint and Darcy a little, but if you think I can’t afford to pay a few bucks to say fuck freely, you don’t know me as well as I hoped you did. It’s one of my favorite fucking words.” The last of the stars cleared just as he swiveled his head towards the door, and there stood the love of his life. Who was next to a mortified looking Sam and a teenager with a bad haircut, black eye, and delighted smile.

“Do me a favor, Pete, and don’t listen to anything that comes out of this man’s mouth. I can’t believe I didn’t see something like this coming,” Sam said, glaring an impressive glare in Tony’s direction. It was a Coulson level glare. On a scale of Darcy to Natasha, a Coulson glare ranked pretty high, but not as high as Steve, who fortunately seemed to be finding Tony’s outburst vaguely amusing at the moment, though he was working to hide that emotion. Not very successfully, but still, trying. Tony was extremely lucky Steve found so many of the things he did amusing. He did his best not to take advantage of that, but it was hard. Steve made it so easy.

“Too late,” Peter said, grinning wildly.

“We could raise the dollar amount to a level less comfortable for you, if you think that would be more effective, Tony,” Steve said, cocking his head thoughtfully. “We could raise money for charity.” 

“So veterans and puppies get money when I swear? This is supposed to be a deterrent? Now I’m really worried, do you not know me? Have... have we met? Are you not Steve?” Tony stood carefully, and squinted suspiciously at his pseudo-boyfriend. “Did somebody finally successfully clone my boyfriend  _ before I figured out how to do it myself?!  _ See this is what happens when I split my time between superheroing and SI, scientific landmarks get made without me-”

“If you don’t interrupt him, he talks forever,” Sam interjected loudly, turning towards Peter. “Just so you know. For, like, survival reasons.”

“Once I was on the phone with him, put it down, took a half hour shower, and came back. He didn’t notice,” Steve said, smiling fondly at the memory . Tony sputtered in indignation, but Peter looked delighted at the information. “He was wrapped up in talking about energy being emitted from vibranium particles in something... but I didn’t want to interrupt, and I had just come home from a run, so...” 

“What are you doing taking half hour showers? Water is expensive, you know. I don’t think any of you appreciate just how much money it takes to keep this tower running.”

“You can afford it.”

“I’d prefer it if you earned your keep, instead of breaking every building that happens to be next to giant mutated animals terrorizing New York. The city makes me pay for that sh-stuff, you know.” Tony said, grabbing a nearby piece of welded metal and wires that was unrecognizable to everybody in the room but him, and waving it in front of him. “The tech in this baby is going to pay for hot water for a year. What have you done to deserve half hour showers?”

“What exactly do you call preventing Latveria from breaking the Geneva Convention?”

“Tuesday. And that’s worthy of fifteen minute showers, tops. Now if you took my kept man offer, you might be able to earn up to-”

“Well, this has been fun,” Sam interjected, loudly, while Steve colored in a way that would not slow Tony down at all, “but Peter and I have to get to the gym now-”

“What did Latveria try to do?” Peter asked, horrified, and then swung his head in Sam’s direction. “Is this one of the international incidents you’re trying to hide from me?”

“No. And we’re leaving. This was... this was a mistake I should have known better than to make. I don’t think I thought this through.” Sam was pushing Peter towards the door, despite Peter’s protests, and that was- that was unacceptable, Tony hadn’t had the opportunity to dazzle him with science dam-darnit! Tony was about to open his mouth, but before he could Dummy zoomed past, green smoothie clutched in his claw, and blocked their path. Sam stopped abruptly, causing Peter to stumble, but Sam caught him just before he could lose his balance completely and fall into Dummy. Instead, Peter found himself face to smoothie-laden claw with the bot, who promptly nudged him with the smoothie cup.

“Um... hi!” Peter said cautiously, reaching up to pat the bot’s support structure, while the Avengers in the room watched curiously. Dummy made a purring-like whirring sound, and nudged Peter with the cup again. “For me?” Another whir. “Thank you, um...” he glanced at Sam quickly. 

“Dummy.”

“Thank you, Dummy,” Peter said, reaching up for the cup and taking it from the outstretched claw. Suddenly, another bot peeked out from behind Dummy, claw clutched around the handle of a large white box.

“OOoooooooh,” Tony said, and heads swiveled towards him while Butterfingers wheeled around Dummy to get to Peter with the box. “They’re, uh,” he cleared his throat, “they’re trying to help you with-” he gestured at his own face, “The ah-” Peter and Sam stared at him, while Butterfingers and Dummy rolled around them chirping. It would’ve been funny if his bots weren’t busy embarrassing him in front of the teenageer.

Whadda know, it was still possible for Tony to feel embarrassed. What a time to discover that about himself.

“I believe that Dummy and Butterfingers are concerned about your injuries, Mister Parker,” supplied Jarvis helpfully. “I’ve tried to explain that you have already received medical care, but I’m afraid they’re... unfamiliar with the concept.”

“When Tony gets injured, he holes himself in here and refuses proper medical care, so the bots have to take care of him by forcing smoothies down his throat and medicine in his face,” Steve said carefully, putting the pieces together before Sam or Peter could. Tony spluttered in indignation, and Steve looked at him apologetically, but pressed on, “They just want to help.”

“They’re trying to... help me heal?” Butterfingers had placed the first aid kit on a nearby workbench, and was now poking through it, occasionally turning to examine Peter, and then turning back to the kit as though to determine what remedy would be most effective. “You have AIs that have learned basic first aid and are concerned about my health.” Peter sounded terrified in the way some people did when they linked AIs and terminator for the first time in Jarvis’ presence, and OK, that was fair, he hasn’t gotten to  _ know  _ Jarvis yet, but Tony still felt himself a little bit indignant at the thought. If Jarvis ever became an overlord, he’d be an excellent overlord who made sure the subway was always on time and respected everybody’s privacy, and everybody would love him and be grateful for his benevolence and wisdom.

“They’re helping bots,” Tony said, in a voice that he hoped was righteously indignant rather than defensive. He thought it worked, but it was hard to tell sometimes. Peter wasn’t paying much attention to him anyways, he was too busy being prodded by a bot who really, really wanted to check under his shirt for more bruises. This was not how Tony had anticipated this meeting going. He had been going for more of a ‘building the future’ vibe rather than a ‘mad scientist who survives by building minions to take care of him’ vibe. Arch reactors, quinjets, element synthesis,  _ Jarvis,  _ they were all more impressive than...  semi-intelligent arms on sticks. “They help. With whatever needs helping. Including stray bumps and bruises. He already saw a doctor guys, he doesn’t need your help.” The bots pretended not to hear him. Because they were immature like that. 

Dummy tapped the bottom of the glass, nearly spilling it on Peter’s pants, making the teenager laugh, and Tony felt himself release a breath he couldn’t remember holding. Steve looked more relaxed than he had any right to be, leaning against a workbench and watching the scene, laughter dancing in his eyes. Sam was backing away slowly, appearing for the moment to take Peter’s laughter as a sign that this was a safe place for the moment. He still looked anxious in a way that was frankly a little offensive to Tony, but Tony was too used to not being trusted around kids to pay too much attention to it. 

“Ok, ok, calm down,” Peter chuckled, moving the cup away from Dummy who only followed. “Here, if it will make you happy-” 

“NO!” Steve and Tony shouted at the same time, and Peter froze, smoothie halfway to his lips. Dummy, however, did not freeze, and ran camera-first into the cup, spilling half of its contents directly onto Peter’s sweatshirt. The green goo sat for a moment in silence on the red sweatshirt, as Steve and Tony gaped at it and Sam’s eyes closed in what looked like defeat. Dummy stood stock still camera aimed at the spill. Only Butterfingers moved, because he had apparently finally decided what Peter needed from the first aid kit. Butterfingers handed the wipes to Dummy, who extended them to Peter apologetically. Peter burst out laughing.

“I am so sorry, it’s just, they don’t always use edible ingredients, and I didn’t think-” Tony began, but Peter cut him off, even as he allowed Dummy to mop up the mess.

“They are so cool!” Peter tried to help Dummy, but the bot whirred angrily at him, determined to clean the mess himself, causing Peter to laugh again. “I was just reading about your AI work, but these are...” Peter stroked Dummy’s arm affectionately, and Butterfingers handed him an ice pack. “Incredible. Is this for my eye?” Butterfingers camera bobbed up and down, and Peter obediently applied the ice pack to his eye, grinning wildly when Butterfingers bobbed his claw in approval. Sam chuckled, clearly relieved that Peter was enjoying this mess. Steve visibly relaxed, and moved to help Dummy dampen a paper towel without short-circuiting himself.

“I monitored the smoothie-making process, and all ingredients he used are edible.” Jarvis’ cool voice reassured them. “In safety, if not in taste.” 

“Oh well.... That’s a relief,” Tony said, nodding. “No poisoning our guest, that should be a rule. Just... check with Jarvis if any of them give you another, OK?” At that moment, You bobbed past him, replacement smoothie clutched safely in his claw. 

“Thank you,” Peter said, taking it from him. “Jarvis?”   


“It is safe, Peter,” Jarvis said, “although again, I cannot account for the taste.” 

“Thank you, Jarvis.” Peter took a cautious sip, holding his good arm carefully above Dummy, who was now carefully dabbing at his shirt. The stain was slowly getting larger. Tony was impressed with how well Peter held in the flinch at the taste. “Mmmmm. I feel better already.” Sam snorted.

“Thank you for humoring them,” Steve said, happily watching the bots buzz around Peter like particularly finicky primates during a grooming session. “Tony never appreciates their efforts to keep him in one piece. I’m afraid it’s affecting their self esteem.” 

“I’d appreciate it more if they were better at it,” Tony snorted. Butterfingers knocked his head with the first aid kit as he wheeled past. “And also if they didn’t inflict the injuries themselves!” Tony shouted at his retreating frame. Butterfingers ignored him.

“Yeah, well, they’re learning bots. They’ll get better at it,” Peter said absentmindedly, examining the joint in You’s support structure carefully. You seemed pleased with the attention. “Right?” He turned to look at Tony, all wide eyed and excited looking, and Tony was thrown for a moment by the child-like glee on his face. It was almost comical, with Peter looking more like a energetic puppy than a teenager in a stained sweatshirt, and apparently delighted that he was sitting at the center of a swarm of bots.

“Right. They’re pretty... they’re pretty old. Prototypes for Jarvis, really, but they’re still... they’re still learning.” Tony took a sip of his coffee to hide his face real quick because he was supposed to have lost the ability to blush decades ago. Even when Steve had met the bots, there had been no blush. And that had gone just about as badly as this. Why the frack was he blushing now? Something about Peter’s face was disconcerting. Watching the teenager interact with the bots in a way that was both awestruck and scientifically curious was familiar in a way Tony didn't want to address.

“Can you explain how they work? Or is that classified too?” Peter asked, distracted again by Butterfingers passing Dummy a roll of paper towels between the teenager’s legs so that the bot could dry the wet spot, which was still also green. Now that the puppy dog eyes were off him, Tony quickly typed an instruction to Jarvis to make sure the stain got treated properly by whoever it was that did the tower’s laundry into the nearest holographic keyboard. “Jarvis said it was classified when I asked how he works. I mean-” the puppy dog eyes were back, but this time they looked a little panicked. “I wasn’t trying to figure it out or anything, I just thought he was cool, so I asked, and he said it was classified, so I let it go-” Sam opened his mouth, presumably to cut him off, but Tony was already waving his hand dismissively.

“Oh, that’s most scientist’s first question when they meet Jarvis.” Peter’s eyes widened to worrisome levels, Sam and Steve looked concerned about that, but Tony was already pulling up some schematics to show Peter. Not the current ones, nothing that wasn’t being taught in college computer engineering courses (advanced classes, specific to AIs, granted). “I can show you the basics if you’re interested. I was under the impression you were more into biology and physics, though?” He shoot Sam an accusatory look, but Sam was busy giving Peter, who had  glanced nervously at the social worker, a reassuring look. 

“I’m uh... pretty well rounded in terms of... scientific interests.” Peter said, hand skating through his hair, which just made it look more ridiculous. Did the state not provide haircuts? The state couldn’t be that broke, what did a haircut cost anyway, $50? While Peter was here, they should arrange for a haircut. And maybe a new wardrobe. Maybe, if they returned different clothes from the laundry, he wouldn’t notice. That green spot wasn’t going to come out anyway, Tony knew because of the incredible number of white shirts that Jarvis had “misplaced” because Tony didn’t actually care if there was a green spot on his workshop clothes. Jarvis had gone through a phase of wanting Tony to not look ridiculous in the workshop around the time Steve had developed the habit of hanging out in here.

Peter’s feet were moving him closer to Tony, seemingly without his noticing, because his eyes were glued to the holographic interface. “Holy Shatner,” he breathed, and Tony didn’t think he was meant to hear that, but he was filing it away anyway. It might come in handy in the new swear-free tower. “It’s OK, I know you must have actual work you probably need to be doing-”

“Ah, it’s been a while since I went over the bots’ code. They could use some attention. They act up when they’re ignored for too long, and I’ve been reliably informed that there is a correlation between their behavior and Stark Industry’s stock prices.” Besides, Jane and Bruce had had their turns, and Tony would be damned if he let an opportunity to mold a future scientist slip through his fingers. Or the opportunity to make a case for engineering, because if Peter’s file was any indication, he had some incredible potential, and the engineering world could use some bright young minds. Conventions were getting depressing. He kicked a wheeled chair out from under the bench, and gestured for Peter to sit. “What kinds of codes are you familiar with?”

 

* * *

 

“Well, that could have gone worse.” Steve raised an eyebrow, and Sam elaborated. “I don’t know how, but it could have, I am sure of that.”

“I thought it went pretty well,” Steve replied, and he meant it. Sure, Peter’s sweatshirt had been sacrificed, but so far Steve was enjoying watching his teammates interact with the teen. Once his desire to ask questions overwhelmed his anxiety about meeting them, Peter seemed to get along well with the Avengers. Steve had caught up with Sam and Peter in Jane’s lab, curiosity finally getting the better of him, and Peter seemed perfectly happy chatting with Jane, Darcy, and Thor about the potential everyday uses of portal-like technology. “Nothing like an accidental spill to break the tension of awkward introductions.” Sam didn’t look convinced. “Peter doesn’t look like he minded all that much.” Sam snorted.

“Yeah, well, he’s easily distracted. Which is good, in this case, I guess.” Steve grinned at him, and Sam rolled his eyes. “I would have liked today to be an unqualified success, but I suppose a qualified one will do. He does look happy, doesn’t he?” 

“Very.” In fact, from his perspective on the couch across the workshop, Peter seemed to be bouncing with enthusiasm over whatever Tony was showing him. Tony was in a zone, taking Peter through the workshop with the charm and charisma that he usually threw at investors, but with a great deal more enthusiasm. “He’s going to be upset with you, you know.”

“Peter? Why?”

“Tony.” Steve paused to enjoy Sam’s confused face before continuing, “You hid a scientific prodigy from him. He takes things like that personally, you know.” 

“Ah, well,” Sam actually looked guilty now, which was curious. Steve had been teasing, but it seemed there was more truth to Steve’s words than he thought. “I figured I should wait until Peter was a little less impressionable to expose him to Tony Stark.” Sam made it sound like a joke, but there was an undercurrent of something that indicated that that was a truer statement than Sam wanted to admit. “Not that he’s not impressionable now, because he is, so I would appreciate it if you kept an eye out. Just in case.” Steve considered his friend for a moment, before replying.

“You know Tony isn’t going to actually be a bad influence, right? I mean, the only thing he’s going to be trying to impress on Peter is that engineering is superior to all other branches of science.”

“I know that,” Sam replied, nodding slowly and releasing a quick breath. “I didn’t. When I first met Tony, I thought about introducing him to Peter, and decided not to because of his reputation. Then I compartmentalized, tried separating work and Avenging, and by the time I got to know Tony I just didn’t think about it.” Steve nodded. He wasn’t exactly the one to judge people for having false impressions of Tony Stark. “I should’ve. I always planned on asking Tony about internship programs, when Peter started looking for them, put in a good word... just seemed more professional. But it sounds silly now. This is good for him. Having some connections in the scientific community. And he’s learning a lot. Or, I assume he is based on the way I didn’t understand what he was talking about with Bruce and Jane.” 

“Hey,” Steve said softly, because he was pretty sure it wasn’t him Sam was trying to convince. “He’s here now. That’s what matters.” Sam looked across the workshop to where Peter was laughing while Tony tried to convince You that he really, really needed that wrench, and why was the bot so attached to the wrench anyway, there were a million similar to it in the workshop, and Tony was willing to exchange it for a different wrench if that would end this particular interaction and let him go back to science. Peter was unhelpfully telling You that actually, that wrench seemed like the nicest wrench, and it would be a shame to lose it. Tony looked betrayed. Steve reached for his sketchpad, and flipped it open. That expression needed to be documented while it was still fresh in Steve’s mind.

“Yeah, he is.” Sam released a breath, seemingly content with that for now. He leaned back into the couch cushions, apparently happy to just enjoy the show. Steve grinned, a warm feeling settling comfortably in his chest, and settled in to sketch the scene.

 

* * *

 

“It’s going well then?” Aunt May’s voice cut Peter off when he paused to take a breath, and that was rude, he was just getting to the good part. 

“The shower has like, five heads in it, Aunt May. Five. I can’t believe Sam’s been living in this luxury and not telling me about it.”

“The state frowns on social workers telling kids about their showers. Generally. It’s not considered appropriate,” Sam said from the kitchen table, where he was doing paperwork. Peter was sitting on the couch in the living room, which was adjacent to the kitchen. 

“This is a private conversation Mr. Fancy Shower.” Sam stuck  his head through the door to give Peter a Look. “That was a terrible nickname. I’m sorry. I can do better.” Sam laughed, and went back to work on the papers.

“It sounds like you’re enjoying yourself,” Aunt May said, and it sounded like she was laughing too, which was always nice to hear. 

“I am. I really, really am.” And he meant it. It had been a long time since he had been able to say that, and it felt weird to hear his voice saying it so genuinely, but today had been great. Phenomenal, even. There was no way any other day could top it.

There was no way any other day could top it. Peter suddenly felt reality creeping back, but he shook his head, determined to just enjoy this one day, and not think about how this was going to end. “They were really good about showing me around and putting up with my questions.”

“Nobody’s putting up with anything,” Sam’s voice drifted in from the other room as Aunt May echoed the sentiment in his ear.

“Private conversation!” Peter called back to him, choosing not to argue the point with Aunt May. Of the two, it was easier to argue with Sam.

“There is a perfectly good room right down the hall that you can use if you don’t want me listening,” Sam replied, “and you need to work on wrapping your head around the idea that they actually enjoy talking about their work. It’s kind of the reason they did that work to begin with. To brag about it. And the people they usually brag to are the other occupants of this tower, who have become numb to scientific advancements and are no longer impressed. And you are easy to impress.”

“I am not.”

“The shower?”

“First of all, I am scandalized that you would say that word to me, and I am telling your boss. Secondly, have you really lived such a good life that that shower is no longer impressive to you? Really? Because that is one crazy shower. I could live in that shower.”

“The shower sounds impressive to me,” Aunt May supplied helpfully, and Peter loved her, he really did.

“Aunt May agrees with me,” Peter said and he could hear Sam’s sigh from here, and he was sure that Sam meant for that to be the case. “You need to learn to appreciate the little things, Sam. Regain your sense of wonder.”

“If your life is so good that you have no need for a relaxing shower at the end of the day, you’ve got something figured out that the rest of us don’t,” Aunt May said, and Peter relayed the message dutifully. Sam shook his head, but he was smiling when he appeared in the door with coffee mug in one hand and a stack of papers in the other a moment later and plopped himself next to Peter on the couch, tossing the papers on the coffee table.

“You guys are right. I’m sorry. The shower is very nice, and I am very fond of it, and after some missions thinking about that shower is the only thing that keeps me on my feet.” Sam looked resigned but pleased about it, like he was finally drinking the punch and the punch actually tasted really good. Peter grinned at him obligingly.

“Good. Because that shower is crazy.”

“But apart from the shower, is there anything else I haven’t heard about your day?” Aunt May asked, and Peter could now hear Uncle Ben in the background asking for information about the shower. “We’re moving on from the shower, dear, keep up.”

“I just got here!” Uncle Ben’s indignant but muffled voice said. Peter’s face hurt from smiling, but he didn’t care. Perfect day. He could bask in it, for the moment. 

“I’ll tell you about the shower later, but I want to hear about something else now,” Aunt May retorted, and Peter could just see the eye roll that Uncle Ben would do as soon as her back was turned.

“Tony Stark called me a scientist,” Peter said, drawing his legs up so that he could rest his chin on his knees like a little kid, and wrapping the arm not holding Sam’s phone around them. Sam made a face at him, and Peter stuck out his tongue at him. “I mean, he was probably just being nice, but it was still so cool.”

“Tony doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean,” Sam said, and Peter decided not to point out that Sam didn’t  _ know  _ that.

“Well, that’s what you are, aren’t you?” Aunt May asked.

“Not really. But it doesn’t matter, I’m just saying, it’s cool that he said it. Doesn’t matter if it’s true or not.” He didn’t think it was true, but hearing Tony Stark say the words made him _want_ to be one that much more.

“Do you need somebody’s permission to call yourself a scientist?” Aunt May sounded genuinely curious.

“Well, traditionally I think a degree or maybe being published is a requirement.”

“Ben, google ‘scientist’ for me, would you?”

“Uncle Ben, do not google ‘scientist’ for her.” But it was too late, and Peter knew it. For a moment, Aunt May was silent and all Peter could hear was keys clicking. Peter imagined Aunt May peering around Uncle Ben as he clicked away on the ancient computer that they had bought when Peter still lived with them. It had already been outdated back then, and now it was obsolete, but Uncle Ben had gotten surprisingly attached to it, and preferred fixing it when it broke to buying a new one.

“It says ‘ A person who is studying or has expert knowledge of one or more of the natural or physical sciences.’” Aunt May reported.

“Well, there you go, not a scientist.” 

“You study natural and physical science.” Peter made an exasperated sound, and Sam smirked at him from behind his coffee mug because Sam secretly enjoyed watching Peter be tormented by Aunt May and Uncle Ben’s love and support, which was just rude. On all of their parts. Peter made a face at him that he hoped communicated that sentiment, which made Sam roll his eyes.

“By that logic every high school student in America is a scientist. And grade school, for that matter. But it said ‘expert.’”

“Well, maybe they are. And it said studying  _ or  _ expert.”

“Yeah, but a person can’t just declare that they are a scientist-”

“You are a scientist, Peter,” Sam said it as though that closed the matter, and talked over Peter when he tried to interrupt. “You spent the day sciencing all over the place. I know, I was there.” Peter heaved a resigned sigh.

“Fine. Just to stop talking about it, I will say: I am a scientist.” And that felt nice, rolling off his tongue. It felt right, and it made him grin madly despite himself. Luckily, only Sam could see, and he was nice enough not to point it out.

“You are a scientist,” Aunt May confirmed, and she sounded far too pleased about that. “Which means you should be able to figure out why the ‘P’ key on the computer isn’t working.”

“You assigning chores is my cue to hang up,” Peter said. “I love you, goodnight.”

He heard Uncle Ben say, “Smart kid,” in the background, and then a very distinct thumping sound that meant he got hit in the back of the head by Aunt May.

“We love you too, dear. Take a picture of the shower for me.” Peter hit the call end button with a fuzzy feeling in his stomach, and handed Sam his phone. Sam’s smile was warm and knowing when he took it, and Peter was pretty sure he was about to either say something either corny or teasing, so Peter spoke first.

“Shut up.” Sam burst out laughing.

“Can’t. Part of my job is telling you when I feel very proud and honored to know you.” Peter froze, and could feel his cheeks heating up. He had honestly expected the teasing. “I’m glad you had a good day. You deserved it.”

“It was. A very good day.” Peter wasn’t sure why this was so much harder than the easy banter of before, but all of the sudden words were very hard. “Thank you. For today. And for everything. I’m-” Peter took a deep breath, and Sam was just sitting there smiling patiently, and looking harmless, and that was when Peter remembered that Sam had had this conversation before. A hundred times, probably, because, like he said, this was a part of his job. Somehow, that made it easier to say, “I’m really glad I pissed Davis off when I did.” Sam laughed again, and Peter smiled, but it didn’t feel as right as it had a moment ago. 

“I’m really glad Davis dislikes me so much,” Sam replied, and this was good. This was territory Peter knew and was comfortable with. Peter’s smile felt real again, even if it was a little bittersweet now. Just because Sam’s said it to other kids and that saying it is part of his job, doesn’t mean he doesn’t mean it. He wouldn’t say it if he didn’t believe it, Peter knew that.

“Hey, how do you feel about a movie?” Peter blinked, thrown a little bit by the change in topic, but affirmed that yes, he was willing to watch a movie. “Oh, good, Cap texted that there’s an impromptu movie night going on upstairs. I bet they’ll let you pick the movie, which means nobody will be injured in the pre-movie death match for movie picking rights, which will make my night much easier.” Huh. The Avengers did movie nights. 

“Is there really a pre-movie death match?” Peter asked, mostly because he needed a moment to process this new development.

“Once. Now we’re not allowed to have movie nights when Steve or Coulson aren’t present. Also, Darcy’s banned from picking movies for life.” Peter could picture it, actually. Yesterday he wouldn’t have been able to, but now that he’d met some of them and seen them out of uniform, he could picture it. In that sprawling family room, in front of the biggest TV Peter had ever seen, he could picture the Avengers bickering about popcorn seasonings and arguing about the relative merits of sequels and reboots. It was a nice picture, it was a really nice picture. It was too nice of a picture, and for a moment Peter understood with perfect clarity that, even if he was a part of that picture tonight, that would be it. In a week or two, he’d leave, and he couldn’t go into another home where he felt like an alien after movie nights with the Avengers. It would make it that much harder to leave, and that much harder to connect to a new family if he got attached to this one, and for a moment, Peter was angry, because Sam should know that.

But it was only for a moment, because then Peter thought about the other scenario, the one where it went poorly and he broke the TV or accidentally insulted somebody’s mother. He was prone to word vomit, that could happen. That might be better than getting attached, it’d certainly make leaving easier, but it still wasn’t an attractive prospect. Because he did really like the people he met today, and he wanted them to like him too, and he didn’t know how he’d handle it if they didn’t.

“Pete? You coming?” Peter was still on the couch, but Sam had gotten changed into pajama pants while Peter had checked out. Which was not helpful when Peter was trying not to picture the Avengers as some picturesque, if eclectic, family. They had movie nights in their pajamas. 

“Actually, uh, my arm is kind of hurting,” Peter was internally flinching at the terrible lie. He could tell that Sam didn’t believe him by the way Sam’s face went blank. If he had, he would’ve been fussing and worrying, but instead he went along with it.

“How long has it been hurting? Should we call the doctor?” 

“No, but I think I’m going to take some pain medicine, and that’s probably gonna knock me out, or at least make me loopy, so....” He trailed off helplessly, trying his best not to make eye contact. 

“Ok.” Peter felt relief rush through him that Sam wasn’t pressing the issue, and nodded, suddenly actually incredibly ready for bed. “If you change your mind, come right on up. Or, if you decide you want company down here, let me know, we’ll watch something on our own.”

“I’m probably gonna fall asleep pretty quickly, actually. It’s been a long day. Great day,” he reassured when Sam looked concerned, “but long. I had to hold in a lot of girly shrieks every time I met somebody new, and that is more draining than it sounds.” Sam looked relieved, and Peter might actually have convinced him on that one, because it was actually the truth.

“Ok. Tell Jarvis if you need anything.”

“Will do.”

Sam waved as the elevator doors closed, and as soon as they did Peter slumped back onto the couch, and turned on the TV, mostly succeeding in not thinking about it. Because he made the right call, but that didn’t stop him from figuratively kicking himself in the butt about turning down a movie night with the Avengers. If only because then he could say he’d gone to a movie night with the Avengers. He reminded himself that, regardless of the sinking feeling in his stomach at the moment, today was still a really, really great day, and as long as he stayed in Sam’s apartment, he wouldn’t screw that up, and it could be remembered as such.

Sam found him a few hours later, curled into a ball on the couch and asleep in the glow of Dog Cop reruns. At which point, Sam just sighed fondly, covered him with a blanket, and let him sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's been a while. I'm so sorry about the long wait, as well as the turn this chapter took at the end. For a pretty happy chapter, the end got kind of depressing. I'm really sorry to leave you guys with on that note. (The real reason Steve and Tony should be Peter's parents is because they're all emotionally stunted) (Sam's gonna help them, don't worry)
> 
> Thank you to everybody who's commented, bookmarked, and left kudos. You guys have been awesome, and it's always motivating to see those little numbers go up. Every piece of feedback is welcome!
> 
> Again, I am so sorry for the wait. I'm still loving writing this fic, this chapter was incredibly fun to write, it just took a while to get it right. There's a George R.R. Martin quote about authors being architects or gardeners, and I am very much a gardener. It's probably not comforting for me to be quoting George R.R. Martin, but I'm working on becoming an architect. I promise.


End file.
